Ride or Die
By Sophie Saint Thomas

I’m your loyal Scorpio.
Your ride or die,
I’ll keep your secrets if you keep mine.

Remember how I closed my eyes in pleasure as I rode you?
I think I kept them closed too long,
And became blind.

Because it took me too long to see that
That this road we were on was a one-way street.
For I betrayed myself, just as much as you betrayed me.

It’s okay, to a fault, I forgive.
I know the lies you told me, you also told yourself.
I take Ambien — but how do you sleep?

By Sophie Saint Thomas

It’s a god damn miracle
That the universe created a drug
That even the sickest and the saddest and the most self-destructive and the reckless
can’t overdose from

The F Word(s)
By Sophie Saint Thomas

I used to sleep with a knife under my bed,
but I only ever hurt myself.
It scared the hell out of partners who didn’t understand.
I wanted something sharp to hold onto as I took flight and escaped.

It happened years ago, but still, sometimes
I consider buying an ax to sit next to my nightstand.
If I told the hardware store clerk what happened,
I wonder if like me, he’d freeze.

Once a former lover gave away my sword after the breakup,
and I felt so angry and betrayed.
Because fleeing finally exhausted me, and being frozen got boring.
I wanted to move and was ready to fight.

The Truth About Red Roses

By Sophie Saint Thomas

Those shelves you bought at the perfect day at Ikea
(You didn’t fight at all).
Won’t be put up until three years and two relationships later.

You won’t end up getting herpes
from the “high-risk” partner who has them.
But you’ll catch a cold sore from a kid cuddling you in church.

What no one tells you about fucking on a bed of red roses,
is that they bleed into the sheets.
When you wake up the room looks like a murder scene.



By Sophie Saint Thomas

May you fuck the god of all your enemies,
and sleep peacefully in an ocean of your own creation.

May all your ghosts be beautiful ones,
and remind you of the love that lives in a single grain of sand.

May you use a paintbrush to turn your pain into art,
and be the decorator of your own temple.

May you remember me as a goddess,
and forgive me for my human blood and tears.

May you fly like a bat through the dark,
and scare away the unworthy while dancing as you please.


Glam Psycho Bitch

By Sophie Saint Thomas

I don’t snort pills anymore;
I swallow the ones my 5th Avenue psychiatrist gave me.

I don’t call myself names anymore;
I choose beautiful lovers who consensually call me a whore for me.

I don’t slice myself open anymore;
I lie back and pay my plastic surgeon to use her scalpel on me.

I don’t run and hide in the shadows anymore;
I watch those who have wronged me do so should they pass by me.

I don’t hate myself anymore;
I let those envious of my success take care of that for me.