The Postmodern Love Manifesto

I made a fool of myself at the museum of arts
standing in an empty display case, trying to look intellectual,
You came by and patted my head, saying
“maybe when you’re a bit older, honey.”
I walked home in a blind rage, thinking
“art is stupid and self-ridiculing”

I made another Spotify playlist
dedicated to Your complete ignorance of my unexplored magnificence
And I know You hate metal (can’t stand the throaty screams and the satanic finger gestures)
But I can’t help but associate You with the things I like, You know? Even though it’s all wrong, shooting cute origami birds with a machine gun

Still, as You walked past me in class today
I silently put away my phone,
diverting my gaze from the constant stream of homo-erotic manga
I feed to myself to avoid the insight that life might have no purpose
Our constant search for meaning leads us nowhere
renders us cold and senseless

“You’re not paying attention,” You say, slamming my fingers with the pointer stick,
but the truth is, I’m thinking of You
in between the scrolls on my Facebook-feed
Press like to avoid terrorist attacks
and 13 toxic relationship habits you didn’t know you were displaying
Yeah, I’d even count You
among my most common fantasies
along with the one where I have sex with my favorite horror antagonist after he’s sewn my slit wrists back together

If You knew of this, You’d say I only love the idea of You
and that I don’t actually want You
that I, like Shakespeare, am just using You to dignify myself
and maybe You’d be right

I, on the other hand,
would say that You are okay
and I could put up with You
imagine the two of us –
You, sound asleep, bloated with the severity of adulthood,
and me, lying beside you,
incompetent, sex-crazed, young and disoriented,
silently jacking off to pictures of manga boys with embellished dicks

Even though You claim to understand where my aching need comes from,
You’ll never have all of me;
You’re already sharing me with hundreds of imaginary beings,
thoughts, and incidents,
some of which occasionally seem more important than You
Don’t ask me to lay my heart out for You.
I’m a woman of a boringly romantic nature,
I only write love letters to concepts
and vague ideas of events that will never take place
I’m the girl they write books about
Telling You how hard I am to love
I’m a conquest, a triumph,
And a worn-out societal concept
But more importantly, I’m a woman who knows I’m worth as much as any man
(Even You.)
I’ve got a hundred and thirty six ideas of how the world might end today
and trillions of ways that I can prevent it from happening
But today I’m thinking of You instead of saving the world
You’re the “obsessive” to my compulsive disorder,
the “I” in bIpolar
and I will grant You a part of my anxiety –
which is also a kind of love.



Are you attracted to wounded animals?
Come here, sweetie
I’ll show you my scars
tell you how I’ve suffered
to make you get on your knees for me
I’m not responsible
For your careless desires
Do you like it only when it can’t hurt you?
Do you like it only when I whimper?
You should be ashamed
You’re the one walking
on the other side of the bars
Won’t you pity a carcass
an empty lover
to hide inside?
I would have heard you say no
if I didn’t see the blood from your flower
dripping down your bruised legs
to love is to convince yourself
there is nothing more
out there


Hand in unlovable hand

“I’m sorry I used you again,”
I whisper
letting the edge of the blade
plant shy kisses
down your neck
then I’ll say
“I’ll be gentle this time”
when we both know

the echo
following me trough the woods
screaming the same words
over and over
maybe I still love you!
maybe I still love you!
maybe I still

the voice that encourages me to hit harder
to cut faster
screaming into the sheets
(and now, in building ecstasy)
I yield

because you’re unlovable
statue of glass and ink
paper heart
it’s where I

to get away from you
until I fall off the edge
Then you’ll take my hand
guide it to the beginning
and whisper
“try again”



Deep hits – a strange tale

I. Sink all night
Our wedding took place at dusk
You wore betrayal like a dress
We danced our tears away
and pretended the earth was burning
maybe, only for us
Should it all end, we’ll celebrate tonight!
Their screams our music
The fire chasing our feet
Until there was no place left for us to thread

II. Death trip
We first met aboard a ship in the Death Caravan
Rushing trough a desert of stars
Heading towards earth, we repeated
Destroy to protect! Destroy to protect!
It seemed odd
When I asked you about it, you laughed and said
But that is how we love things, darling
By slowly tearing them apart
Striking them by force
Making sure we hit them first

III. Nothing personal
Your last bouquet of roses
Smelled of cheap plastic
Stained with muffled breaths
Blood that wasn’t mine
The nights had turned cold,
the sky into a dark animal that dwelt above our heads
It’s gaze burning with the fury of a million wiped out civilizations,
empty nebulae clouds like mourning mothers
Who’d weep for them?
Who’d weep for us?
Your flowers were yellow plastic
Your smile like the thousand suns
that consumed us
the atomic heat,
the flesh-tearing impact
Drew us closer
to the bitter end

IV. Deep hits
Which makes a better tragedy –
A flower withering from age,
or a flower that never blossomed at all?
A fire too fierce, to devastating,
or a fire that never has the chance to spark?
Some loves wither like flowers
Others simply explode
Some worlds are built to devour
Others are swallowed whole
Our home lies desolated
A long journey ahead of us
Still I wake up every night
Aboard the rescue capsule, floating in orbit
To taste the scent
of yellow plastic love
– what a cruel way to fade!



Now this is a rather special piece. This short story is meant to capture a couple’s struggle to cope with the end of their relationship – and, simultaneously, the end of the world. It’s heavily inspired by the movie Melancholia, as well. The titles of the verses are, ironically, the names of various bouquets of flowers (I accidentally came across a picture online and their special names just struck me with inspiration.) I knew I had to write a story using them as title names, and, well, this is how it turned out.


Parasite (A love story)


[Sensitivity warning: contains strong language, slight gore, implied sex, suicide, angst material in general.] 

I see you coming.
Your figure blurred in the rain.
I’m lying in a pool of water down the street, wrapped in a white cloth.
Shaking from the cold.
The mere sight of me repulses you.
This pitiful creature once your enemy.
I sputter, my lips barely able to pronounce the words.
“Go away.”
But you won’t. Instead you pick me up, like a child.
Always such a goddamned hero. I clench my teeth.
“I hate you,” I whisper in your ear as you carry me home. Again and again. “I hate you. I hate you.” Either you’re not listening, or you do not care.

You lay me down on the couch to dry, like an old piece of wood. Feed me by force, not even trying to conceal the disgust on your face. You don’t want to touch me. Yet you cradle me like a baby. You loathe my whimpering, my apathetic stares. Still you can’t take your eyes off mine.

In the small hours of the night, I drift off to sleep in your arms. We share a pleasant dream about the sunflower fields of home. When I wake up I can taste sour metal in my mouth.
“Give me one reason not to blow your fucking brains out,” you whisper, standing above me. The hand with the gun is shivering. You have felt it. You know that I’m venomous.
So what should I say? I shrug. I don’t have an answer.
After a while you curse loudly, throw your weapon away and storm off into your room.
I don’t sleep much for the rest of the night.

Weeks pass by slowly. I cling to your presence, neglecting life. I refuse to eat, throw away most of the food you offer me and vomit up the rest. I starve, over and over. No matter. Only by staying this weak I can earn your pity. Only by remaining a ghost I can be allowed to live in you. By gaining access to your most cherished memories, I sate my own, painful incapability to feel. When using your emotions, I can remind myself of being human. It’s almost real.

The closer I come to your world, the weaker you become. You grow forgetful. Stop locking the doors after you. Almost as if you want me, as if you dare me to enter.
Just inside your bedroom, you’ve built a tower of empty liquid bottles. The poison is taking over your mind. I stay up all night, listening to you having nightmares. You writhe and moan among the sheets. There is nothing I can do to help. I know I’m making it worse by being here, curled up so close to your vulnerable heart. But I can’t stop. I’m high on the sensation of being alive again. Every night I crawl down beside you, enjoying the sensation of skin against skin. I am cold, cold as stone, while you are feverishly hot. I caress your veins slowly.

Who kissed first? No one would admit it, but once we’ve started we can’t stop. You press your body tight against mine and I drink your pain greedily. Entering a symbiosis of lust we give ourselves to each other, becoming one. I cry of pain, I cry for more. Our nest is covered in sweat and fear and passion and longing and when you call out my name it sounds like poetry.

I’m familiar with the ways of nature. I know the stronger host kills the weaker eventually. Hence I shouldn’t be surprised when I find you lying against the wall, bathing in crimson red. The wounds on your wrists are gaping hollow, smirking at me.
“How dare you?” I yell as I drag your lifeless body trough the corridor, leaving a thick trail of blood behind. “How very fucking dare you try yo leave me like that!” My fragile body fails me. My feet slip in the warm blood. I collapse on the floor.
“God damn you!”
I barely notice that I’m crying. This emotion thing must have gone too far. I shouldn’t bother. I shouldn’t fret. What is this, but a beautiful cage of flesh to mourn over? Another life claimed. Another death on my cursed existence. Not allowed to love, not allowed to feel for another.
And I do.

Such is the life of a parasite.

The inspiration for this came from a wonderful piece of fanfiction written by Thank you for letting me adapt your work, and I hope you like this.

Ps. This is fiction.


Purgatorium part 2, Oronar


(c) Malicia Frost

(c) Malicia Frost


”You shouldn’t have come here.” OneWinged’s heart beat more intensely by each second. She knew the appearance of the satyress could mean one thing only.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

”If anyone sees you here…” she murmured in panic, but was cut off.

”I know.” A dark shadow had placed itself upon Ealys beautiful satyr eyes. It made them seem pale blue instead of their natural, snow white tone. Her horns gleamed in the last rays of the descending sun.

”So trust me when I say that I have good reasons for returning here. I know I promised you to never interfere with your life again, and I’m really sorry to have gone back on my word. But you have to come at once. There isn’t much time.”

OneWinged felt like a cold and sharp stone fell down her throat. She’d known it in the same moment the satyress appeared before her, a figure as soft as a shadow on the flowered wallpaper. She had sensed what was about to come, as a gathering thunder storm.

”It’s Oronar,” Ealys breathed, fulfilling all of OneWinged’s fears. ”He is dying.”



OneWinged whimpered and slowly collapsed against the wall behind her. Every nerve in her body shivered at the name. She pulled in a dry sob as memories started to play in her mind – Oronar smiling, Oronar holding her, Oronar bleeding endless rivers of black on her polyester carpet.

”Why?” she managed to cry out, gasping for breath. Ealys sent her an evaluative gaze.

”I think we both know why,” she said. ”Surely you haven’t forgotten about the warning I gave you. The ancient judgement? Demons are not meant to fall in love with humans, OneWinged. You must be aware that they are not meant to fall in love at all.”



OneWinged’s heartbeats were pulsating as blood rushed trough her veins. She could hear a weak, ringing tune in her ears.

”I’m not a human,” she said weakly, feeling the broken wing attached to her left shoulder. ”I…”

”You were,” Ealys replied, ”and in a sense your still are. Look at you.” She reached out a hand and carelessly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. OneWinged flickered.

”There’s nothing to be done about it now,” Ealys stated in a seemingly nonchalant manner. ”I only came here because he’s asked for you. If it is your wish to see him one last time, I shall take you back to Purgatorium. This once only.”

OneWinged nodded, her eyes filled with blistering tears. She never meant for any of this to happen. All she had wished from the beginning was for Oronar to be safe. Therefore she had left, even though it ripped her heart to pieces, and therefore she was now back in the place she loathed and feared. Living as a shadow, pretending to be something she was not. All for him.

And all in vain.

OneWinged took the satyresse’s offered hand and closed her eyes, trying not to think of the journey that lay before her, and what she might find at the end. Purgatorium called her back. Oronar called her back. There was a curse between them, a curse so strong it slowly tore him apart.

Who would be cruel enough to call it love?


– Malicia Frost

Dearest mind ( A Love Poem)


Dearest mind, I hate you.

Hate how you fill my days with fear and agony

By projecting brutal, bloodstained visions and emotions on my numb consciousness 

Trying to make me believe they’re real

and part of me


Hate how you force my thoughts into these repetitive patterns

Never giving me a minute of peace

I hate how you pull the strings of my emotions

Making me feel everything so deeply

Turning each drop of rain into a flood


Oh but dearest mind, I love you

Love how you think and resonate

Keeping a stand against this intruding disease

Attempting to take the place of my reason


I’m in love with the stories you tell

To keep my sanity at bay

I love the sentences you brew

so deeply I write them down to own them forever


I’m in love with your love, with your care and passion

Your endless patience and devotion

I’m proud to be yours,

beautifully severed mind

And so we go forth

inseparable ’til death


– Malicia Frost