I take another sip of my glass of shitty $4.49 Riesling as another carpenter ant crawls up my unshaved shin. Is this what I’ve become? I think to myself. I sip once more, knowing fully well I will have heartburn in 20 minutes. Damn this wine is shitty.

Last night was supposed to be fun. I was supposed to be fun. Instead, I found myself covering my crotch when he went for the tie on my shorts. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. The last time I did it, bad things happened to me. Very bad things.

His mouth felt the same as all of their mouths: taut and wet. It was as if when I kissed him, I was kissing all of them. Every guy I had ever been with. Which, for your information, wasn’t actually that many. But they still remained, despite that.

My phone dinged and vibrated. “You have a new message from Carl.” I let out a sigh and force-touched the screen to open the message. I skimmed the speech bubble’s contents and replied with the usual “It’s going. You?” I wasn’t that original.

Another sip. I didn’t want to waste the nice bottle of Riesling from the local winery. That was too good. Too good for me. Here comes the heartburn, I shutter as acid from my stomach filters into my throat.

Knock, knock. My roommate was at the door. I put the glass of wine under my desk and walked towards the door.

–Elizabeth Lacey

I’m Back

Sorry I haven’t written in a while. I just started my summer class and with volunteering, it has been a lot. I plan on writing more flash fiction, maybe even a short story of sorts. There will still be poetry but I’m just trying to explore more with fiction.

Happy reading!

-Elizabeth Lacey


I feel      guilty. What      have I done? 

No      thing. 

I think    things are okay when they are     not. 

But that      is all I do is      think. 

Think. Think. Think.  

I make       excuses for       those who may not      deserve them. 

But that      is all I do is      make. 

Make. Make. Make.  

Yet      what have I done?

No      thing. 
–Elizabeth Lacey 


They’re that stain of spaghetti sauce on your white top splashed on after spooling noodles on your fork.

They’re that pressure on your cactus bladder full of solution after a day of ingestion. 

They’re that black ponytail on your right wrist that leaves a fuchsia ring after hours of wear. 

They’re me replying to you within our usual fifteen minutes after you haven’t been here. 
–Elizabeth Lacey


Today I find myself damp with emotion.

A pilly, old rag moist, already rung out twice.

I can’t stop these goddamn tears from falling, 

From heaving out a sob meant for you. 
–Elizabeth Lacey