Bowery

artwork belongs to Gabriel Garbow “Have you moved on from me?” He asked carefully. His eyes were trying to search for whatever clues in mine. “Well..” I cleared my throat. “I still masturbate about you if that’s what you mean..” I laughed nervously. “Like a lot..” I continued, still trying my hardest to lighten the mood. I hate this. I hate where this conversation was going. I hate the emotion that was starting to bubble up inside my chest, threatening to break free from whatever cage i have put them in. "You know it very well that's not what i meant, Liam.." His eyebrows furrowed, almost apologetic, almost begging. "But its true!" I insisted. "I think about you when i masturbate. I think about you when i'm turned on. I think about you when i am about to cum. Gosh, Darren i even think about you when i am hooking up. Like every.single.fucking.time! Its starting to annoy the shit out of me!" I started laughing hysterically. "...

artwork belongs to Jasper Behrends ::You are the closest thing I have:: Liam crosses and uncrosses his legs for the umpteenth time. His back wet against the bar stool he was sitting on. He is sweating. His mind is boiling. His thoughts are racing. His fists curled tightly into ball. He tries hard to hold on to his table. He tries hard not to jump out of his stool, run to a particular redhead and slaps her hard with the back of his palm. He tries not to imagine how satisfied he would be when he could feel the sting on his palm and realizing the other flesh is even more hurt than his. He tries to contain his wrath by breathing through his mouth, slowly, just like what his granny taught him on his mom’s funeral when he was six. As expected, it works well for him. He can finally calm down a little, at least his shoulders stop shaking now. “Are you fucking joking right now?” He lowered his eyes and glared at me. His anger was crystal clear on his dark coal eyes. “Do you mea...

Artwork belongs to its owner CHAPTER 1 My fingers hurt. I knew i shouldnt clutch onto my cup too tight. My knuckles turn white. The last thing i want to do is breaking it to pieces and spill my tea everywhere. But my chest hurt and my mind is in great ditress. If only i could vanish the sight i am looking at right now. Every aspect, no, every tiny facet of it.   Those dark and sturdy arms folded on the table, other fair girlish fingers knocking constantly on their table, and two cups of coffee and plate put between them. Even the sun light mirrorred on their eyes, or the cookies crumbs scattered on the male’s black trousers. I want it all to just disappeared and wiped out of my sight, my mind if possible. I dont know what they’re talking about right now. Poor me i wasnt born with the ability of lip-reading which i desperetaely want to possess at the moment. I cant even guess what they feel. Those two incredibly good-looking people over there, sitting by the window. That...