Support Visible Ink

Visible Ink is student-volunteer run anthology fuelled by a love of literature, poetry and art. 
While we are grateful for the funding we do receive, the sad reality is finical support for the arts is not what is used to be. 

Hands

I walk to the kitchen, the cupboards empty but for a jar of instant coffee. With a bent spoon I stir the murky brown liquid, sipping its bitter distraction by the sink. Outside the sun is glaring at me. I stare right back into it, wanting the white light to bleach my veins and make me heavenly again. But it’s no use. It’s spread too far now, in between my toes, my groin, behind my knees. It has wriggled its way into my ribcage. A glorious, greedy dictator.

The Hobby

I’ve decided to carve your face. Oh, not literally, of course. Guinevere, our clay sculpture teacher, said we should try making something familiar. And what’s more familiar to me than your face? 

This Is Where The Magic Happens

The homeopath talked and talked and talked. Of miracle cures and deathbed recoveries. Amongst it all, there was something about him being sued by the family of a young girl who’d died, but he didn’t care about that because he was right about cancer and everyone else was wrong.

And Then I Found Her

A virgin, it said. The book in the library told me what she was, and what I was, and why I could see and touch her. She’d chosen me because I was a virgin. Someone pure, the book said. I smiled at that. My sister read the book beside me, while I stroked her hair.

Hanging With Dada

‘Calm down. He’s fine. He’s fine,’ I say at least three hundred times before she stops yelling, but she’s still crying, the crazy bitch. ‘Fuck, Mel, it’s not like I’ve left him on the side of the highway! I can look after my own son!’