Poetry by Lilly Cassely

      Emma K Alexandra CC




the student health center at the university of new hampshire

gives out free narcan but 
no pregnancy tests, so 
i guess i have to go and spend 

another twenty bucks on a clearblue. 
it’s fine, i guess. it makes sense – 
it’s so much easier to die here 

than it is to do anything else. 
how many times have i said that 
i will too, probably, crawling back

at the end of it all, loyal like a dog. 
jackson texted me the last time 
that they saw a corpse, deprivation purple

or pregnancy test pink on the floor at park street
and if there’s one thing i’ve learned it’s that 
the bodies will just keep coming so i grab 

the nasal spray for later even though i 
don’t need it, just in case. i can always use
the brown paper bag it came in when i go 

to the pharmacy anyway, folded over on top 
so no one can see its insides. that way i won’t 
have to pay an extra ten cents for the plastic. 






park street, 2018

he told me he died twice
while we looked out over 
the marshes, shark-tooth 
grinning at the thought: 

it was once in the taco bell 
parking lot, like backseat, neon 
lights. red white and blue, y’know,

all-american, and after that
it was just once more.
in the hospital, afterwards,
with his mother. bottlefed

by the nurses at his feet and at his skull






Here, Bleed

I ran into the woods to smash my life 
up against a tree the night after we bled 
out like split fish on the porch together 
in July and the bugs wouldn’t give us 
a fucking second of peace and quiet. 

I am a million mile / years 
away from you on the roof 
in Back Bay but ninety percent 
humidity would feel the same 
anywhere. Lana likes to say 

that I still sound Southern sometimes 
‘cuz I got this heat & this shame 
gumming up my throat when I talk, 
baby, and the list of things 
that I can’t write about is three 

bullets long. I promise I can
swallow around shrapnel, though, 
if you’ll let me try, cut out 
my tongue & shove it
down the barrel of the gun.

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Lilly Cassely is a writer and visual artist based in Southern New Hampshire. Her work explores dependence, adolescence, environment, and gender. She can be found in Main Street Magazine, The Avenue, on Substack (soapdishglitter.substack.com), or loitering outside your local 7/11.