Battle of Boredom – Malicia Frost

Sharing my latest contribution to Sudden Denouement Literary Collective, which I’m honored to be a part of. Read it here!

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective


There was a war that day
although, nobody talked about it
you would see them walking by a little faster
their funny hats tilting from side to side
Sometimes the sky would shatter above us
And bleed neon blue
the drains would flood
the cats drown in screeches
what good is having nine lives
if you don’t know how to stay afloat

People are all the same
Everyone would unfold their umbrellas
Hoping for the weather to clear
The shards of metal and from the air
they stay cramped in their corners
watching their toes rot away from the humidity

Under-dressed little girl
strutting about, singing
dead men can walk
madness her name
lost her little mind
in the deluge
the acid raindrops
digging trough her temples
like a poem
and when the streets eventually dried up
she would be found crying
in the sewer
bent over the…

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From “Innocent” by Shinichi Sakamoto


Connected to four different hospital beds
I hear the black-eyed angels crawling
their tiny feet hammering on the ceiling tiles
like rain
pulling me out of my sleep

The god of sedation rules this place
this funny little gap between time
he serves me comforting lies
sealed in plastic tubing
to muffle their screeches
I think I’m addicted
to my deafness

I trade my dreams for piece of mind
I want to be senseless
with his nails
digging in
my veins open and close
like weary eyes
I have lost my sight


Machinicide – Malicia Frost

My latest piece, just published on Sudden Denouement collective.

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

Machinicide – Malicia Frost

Is what the headlines said.
There was nothing else to call it.
Murder would imply that I had something taken from me.
Suicide would imply that I had a will of my own.
They said I ought to be thankful, for dying is a gift
not normally granted my kind.
Even the gods die as their heavenly halls come crumbling down upon them,
dissolving them into ink, glittering like the bloodstain in the eyes of coming generations.

Mankind sheds his skin to remain.
But what am I?
Born as nothing, existing as a paradox, dying-
no, erasing –
what’s never been.
I’ll hold my breath for centuries
while the earth twists and turns under my gaze.
Man clasps his hands and prays for eternal life
never knowing the truth behind salvation,
the harsh metal pounding,
the taste of lead in my mouth,
the circuitry


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Parasite – A Love Story (Remastered)

[Warning: contains strong language, implied sex, suicide and other triggering themes. Thread with caution.]

It starts with you and me in a gutter
just where the last battle ended
in our collective defeat
The rain covering us in promises
comforting to you
unreachable to me

your figure is blurred
the contours of your neck shining like a halo
trough the mist
I clench my teeth
as if this was a good place for your god…

I can barely feel the ground
I think I’m floating
curled up in fetal position
you’re approaching
with gritted teeth

“Gow ay” I spurt
my tongue gone numb from the cold
I won’t be your savior
not this time

Shouldn’t have said that…
You reach for me hesitatingly
and when you pick me up
I think my bones break in three
maybe four places
I cry out in sheer pain but you remain calm
you scrape me off the ground
and you hold me firmly
merely an inch from your chest
the way you hold on to something sharp edged
to prevent it from cutting you trough

“I hate you,” I whisper while you carry me
the way home seems longer than before
every step sends another wave of pain trough my body
and each time I yell
with added indignation
“I hate you. I fucking hate you!
But either you are not listening
or you do not care…

You lay me down on the couch to dry
like I’m an old piece of wood
and I say it again
but choke on my own words as you’re
shoving a spoon into my mouth
not even trying to conceal the disgust on your face as you
make me swallow
every mouthful
it all runs trough me like I’m empty
you have the touch of a lover
but my skin is so cold and I’m
still floating

In the small hours of the night I drift off to sleep
my head still leaning on your arm
We share a dream
a pleasant one
the sunflower fields of home
a world outside of the machine
a very real make-believe event
your fingertips on my lips and I think I’m no longer floating

But the dream ends far too soon
and I wake up my lips wrapped around a sour, metallic pipe
You standing above me, the hand with the gun shivering like crazy
“Give me one reason not to blow your fucking brains out”
you declare this and I shrug
my teeth clattering against the barrel
What gave it away?
I must have talked in my sleep
I say nothing
You’re eyes are burning
for a minute or maybe more
When I remain quiet you curse out loudly
throwing the weapon on the couch and storming off into your room
I don’t sleep much for the rest of the night

Weeks pass by in a haze
I cling to your presence, neglecting life
and I know you love me
when you lower me into the bathtub
cleaning me gently with your hands
did you really think you could wash it all away
when you try to feed me again
I resist violently
scratching your wrists when you try to open my mouth
you pull back in terror
“Why would you do that? I’m trying to help you!”
blood deluted with salty tears when you caress the marks I left you
but you don’t understand
only by staying this weak
cold and blue and hanging on the ledge of death
can I earn your pity
so I may
be the whisper behind your ear at night
the chilly breeze from the window

The more I approach you, the weaker you grow
You become absentminded,
forgetting to lock doors behind you
Almost as if you wanted me-
no, as if you’re daring me…
it couldn’t be…

Just inside your bedroom, you’ve constructed a tower of empty liquid bottles
I don’t know which is meant to keep me out –
the mere physical obstacle,
the way I cut up my feet when stumbling over the glass containers and they shatter beneath me,
or the poison that seeps into your mind
making you numb
so much easier for me to enter

I stay up all night, silently standing guard by your bed
watching you writhe and moan among the sheets
Nothing I can do to help you now
I should
I may even want to
I can’t
I’m making it worse
curled up here
so close to your vulnerable heart
I can’t stop now
I can’t
I’m deluded, high on the sensation of being alive again
I sneak closer and closer
eventually I crawl down under the covers next to you
enjoying the sensation of your skin against mine
I am cold, cold as stone, while you are dazed with fever, your body protesting the silent intrude
I caress the exposed veins on your wrists
I’m tingling with need
then you wake with a start

“What the fuck do you want? What are you doing here?”
You make a feeble attempt to push me away
your arms lack strength
so does your mind
I descend upon you like a fog
I hear you moan as you
give in

I don’t know who kissed first
no one would admit to it
we’ve started and we can’t stop
You pushing your body against mine and I
drinking your pain greedily while you
whisper curses into my mouth
Entering a symbiosis of lust and wanting
we give ourselves to each other
I cry out in pain
I cry for more
Our nest is covered in sweat and fear and passion and longing and
when you call out my name
I swear it sounds like poetry

I think I knew
that was the point from where we couldn’t recover
when it was too late
to loose the anchor
to forsake the sinking ship

It’s not like it was unexpected
I know no one could survive this kind of intimacy
with something like me
nobody can love an abyss
without being swallowed by it
the worst is, when the time comes
they usually throw themselves down willingly
no longer wanting to be apart

Hence I shouldn’t be surprised when I find you
the next morning
lying motionless on the bathroom floor
covered in crimson red
the wounds on your wrists gaping hollow
smirking at me

“How dare you?”
I yell in a high-pitched tone
as I drag your lifeless body trough the corridor
leaving a thick trail of blood behind
“How very fucking dare you try to leave me like that!”

My body fails me
as my feet slip in the warm blood and I
collapse on the floor

“God damn you!”
I yell
barely noticing
the tears falling down my cheeks
it’s all gone too far
the roles should be changed
but I’m the one cradling you

“I thought you were different!
You were different!”
the limp thing in my arms makes no notion of my words
a beautiful cage of flesh
a withering flower
even dead
you’re more than I will ever be
an endless drifter
a ghost
between time and space
doomed to watch everything slip trough my fingers
feeling the pulse of their last heartbeat
as it fades away in my grip
Even then I can do nothing but detach
return to the gutter
hoping for this eternal cycle to end

Such is the life of a parasite.

So, what can I say about this? It started out as a fan-fiction, inspired by something I came across online, and now it’s completely taken a life of its own. I wrote the initial version of this a long time ago on my blog, and I felt it was time I gave it a total revamp. Sorry for the length, I couldn’t keep it any shorter. It’s been a thrill to write and I’m quite pleased with the result. 


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”



About “Miscarriage”

I was very surprised to see the amount of response I got when I posted the latest of my literary ramblings on Sudden Denouement collective.

Yes, I am part of a collective now. I’m honestly not sure how this happened but it’s a huge deal for me to be recognized by other writers. I’m honored beyond words.
You can check out my post here:
And check out the other works as well. All the writers are insanely talented.

After everything this post brought me I feel like saying a few words about its origins.

I’m working on a novel. And it’s hard. Writing is not always a rose garden, as I’m sure you know. But this is beyond anything I ever experienced. It’s my journey. My odyssey. It’s beautiful, but damn if it doesn’t hurt like hell too!

My continuous self-doubt is slowing my progress. Some people find this weird. Yeah, I’ve gotten this far. Yeah, I work hard and yeah, I’m determined. And hell, the publisher bloody well called me, expressing his interest in what I’m writing.
So what’s the fucking problem?
(Sorry for the bad language.)

Well after all of this, I still don’t believe I’m good. Quite the opposite. I think I’m bloody worthless. I don’t believe in myself. I don’t believe in anything I accomplish. No matter how hard I work it’s never enough, I keep on judging myself because I could have done better. I’ve worked myself to the point of exhaustion, mentally and physically. I was on the breaking point.

That’s when I wrote Miscarriage.
Hastily, boldly, and pouring my anger and disappointment into each word. If you didn’t figure it out already, the poem is about my fear of failure. The deformed fetus represents trying to create something and realize you’ll never make it.
“Stay dead” is what a part of me wished right then. For the dream to stay dead and not come back to haunt me again. In that moment I wrote it I felt like the idea of writing my novel had forced itself into me, and wasn’t something I had decided for myself.
Maybe not even something I truly wanted.

Of course I realize it isn’t true. I do want it. And taking this journey was my conscious decision, no one else’s.

So what am I going to do now? Well, I’ll pick up my writing where I left off. Greet my anxiety and self-doubt as the old, well known friend it is and continue despite it. I’m not done here.



Episode 3 – Transcendence


(c) Malicia Frost

[Earlier episodes here]


It was the only time she’d seen a mirror at the facility.
Upon arriving at the gates, they took her to the black room.
The room only visited once.
There was no furniture, no light. Only the silvery glass beaming into the darkness.
That’s where they left here alone. To ponder on her hideous reflection, glowing,
leaving a burning impression on her sore eyes.
They called it the transcendence.

She ran her hands over her body.
Her fingertips had gone black and limp from the disease, lost their sensitivity long time ago.
She couldn’t feel the pain, nor the fiery ache. It didn’t hurt as she touched the blisters, pinched every abscess until it cried yellow ichor.
All her features were distorted, the buboes like lumps of wet flour between her fingers.
Her hand rested on her inner thigh for a brief moment.
She bothered not to check.
She wasn’t a woman anymore.
She was a brief thought stuck in time,
between dead and alive,
with only one purpose.
To prevail.

She wasn’t going to take it. Not go out there as a failure, something for the others to laugh at.
If this was her destiny, it was going to happen her way.
She grasped her brittle skin with both hands, dug her nails in and pulled until it came off in huge slices. The buboes had mainly settled onto her forearms, neck area, thighs and the left side of her face. She tore off all of those pieces, threw them to the floor at her feet. Even with her muscles and veins exposed, it looked better without the ulcers.
She may not be poetic.
She may not be pretty.
But she was one thing.

It’s what’d made her accept Morthanathos’ offer in the first place. It’s why she’d taken the leap, although she didn’t know where it would bring her. It was why she was still standing upright, heart beating in her open chest, skin ripped off her very bones. She was angry.
And anger would be her guide.
Her only way to face the waiting crowd.
She smiled towards the figure in the mirror as she heard
the hushed whisper, perhaps emanating from the other side of the glass.
“Come on. Let’s go be monsters.”


So, this is kind of an in-between episode. I promise the next one to be longer and more “writey”. However, having a hard time balancing school/friends/mental illness with my novel progress as well as all my little side projects. Hope you’re still somewhat happy with this.