Black Petals Issue #100 Summer, 2022

Editor's Page
Mars-Chris Friend
BP Artists and Illustrators
Baby, You're the Best: Fiction by Hillary Lyon
The Darkest Day:Fiction by Richard Brown
They Feed on Light:Fiction by Kilmo
Step Eight: Fiction by Paul Lubaczewski
Reunion:Fiction by Gene Lass
Highwayman's Trousers:Fiction by Michael W. Clark
The Dutiful Hit:Fiction by Jay Flynn
Flight of Fantasy: Fiction by Martin Taulbut
He Asked Me to Do It: Fiction by R. A. Cathcart
Lagniappe: Fiction by Michael Stoll
No Spark, No Flame: Fiction by Hillary Lyon
The Bathroom Light: Fiction by Craig Shay
Dave Jenkins, Flayed: Flash Fiction by Brian Barnett
Beauty Sleep: Flash Fiction by Simeon Care
Head Games: Flash Fiction by Philip Perry
Hurry Home: Flash Fiction by M. L. Fortier
You'll See, She Said: Flash Fiction by Robb White
Captain Yeah-Way: Flash Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
Attic Notes: Poem by Michael S. Love
Exit Strategy: Poem by C. Renee Kiser
You Can Pretend: Poem by C. Renee Kiser
Gold Star: Poem by C. Renee Kiser
Conflict of Interest: Poem by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
Recording: Poem by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
Litha: Poem by Christopher Friend
Sleeping Beauty: Poem by Christopher Friend
It Began with Violence: Poem by Donna Dallas
Rocking Zebra Déjà vu: Poem by Donna Dallas
Circle: Poem by Donna Dallas
Love is a Ghost: Poem by Donna Dallas
Together: Poem by A. N. Rose
Silence: Poem by A. N. Rose
Dead at 21: Poem by Daniel G. Snethen
House Centipede: Poem by Daniel G. Snethen

Michael S. Love: Attic Notes



Michael S. Love






I hate the texture of dying skin

and that's why I try to get rid of it

within a few days while it isn't

quite dead and it hasn't developed

that thick, rubbery sensation.


The earlier the better

in order to hold out the longest I've discovered.

The latter tend to lose the elasticity

the fastest by far.


I have looked into freezing to some extent

and I do think doing so quite fine.

Certainly wonderful when one finds his or herself

in a pinch but still much of the buoyancy is lost,

especially when being stored for a period of several months

or perhaps even longer.


Therefore I try to avoid such situations whenever possible.

As I said, best to be done with it all within a few days

otherwise unwanted situations tend to arise.


To be honest the most annoying and difficult thing

about the whole damn, bloody process

is removing all of the hair completely.

Nothing is more annoying than enjoying a fine meal

only to have a damned hair get caught in your throat!


For this I've found boiling the flesh to be of great benefit

with this conundrum but to be sure if you have plenty of time

it is always best to sit down and remove all of the hair follicles by hand.


But earlier you were asking about when it all began.


It all started off as more of a personal thing.

By that I mean only with me, with myself.

At first I only cut a little here and maybe a little there.


It was just the sensation of it all!

Something different.

Something only.....mine and nobody could take it away from me.

No one.


And I didn't really know what to think or even whether or not I really liked doing it.

Eating it.

But it was something I just knew I had to do.

It wasn't a “yes or no” choice.  It was a demand.


There's not really a  flavor, a taste to it.

At least not with me.

Better not plain....

We can put it that way.


Adding flavor came later out of my own curiosity

as well as from tips, “recipes” rather from others,

by that I mean fellow serial-killers.

“The burn.”  That's what we like to call it.


If there could ever be said to be any flavor,

in the beginning I suppose one could say so in the blood.

A salty, zesty taste.

In the early days one tends to have bad episodes

with vomiting but time fades this as the stomach adapts.


This is the time when that burn intensifies

and it becomes the demand.

One that only self-infliction will satiate

or better with some new found flesh.


And there's always plenty out there!


You would be surprised at how easy it is to obtain.


Sometimes you can see it hanging there when you're lying in bed

battling your inner demons.

That lady from the other night still hanging on the hook.

Or maybe that asshole who got in the way.


It's hanging there. Perhaps in the garage

or maybe in a basement,

far away in the country where no one can hear anything

and the scent flies away with the cussing breeze.



So you lay there thinking about it.

Hell, it seems to call to you and maybe you're in one

of those fucked up states where you're not quite asleep

but you're not quite awake either and you hear it crying out to you.


You're lying there with an erection or wet (laugh) if you're a woman,

which does happen by the way!

Anyway, you're fucking aroused, you know what I'm sayin'?

You're salivating, wondering if it tastes just as good in sleep

as it does in the woken world.

Could it possibly taste better somehow?


I don't even know if that makes any sense.


But you see it and you hear it.

You fucking smell it and taste it

and all you wanna do is get your ass

outta that bed and go to it!


Stroke it.

Lick it.

Taste it just one more time because you never know if it's gonna be your last.



Flesh never tasted so good.

Michael S. Love was born in Mt. Clemens, Michigan and grew up in Topeka, Kansas. In high school he took a creative writing course and discovered a real love for reading and writing poetry. In addition he also write short-stories, children's stories and articles when he knew what he was talking about. He is also working on a novel.

He has had a number of poems professionally published in circulations and has had 1 article published dealing with OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder).

He attended college at Park University in Parkville, Missouri, and received his Bachelor's in Liberal Studies, his major being in English with an emphasis on creative writing. In addition, he is also a graduate of The Institute of Children's Literature and has presently returned to take a selected, advanced writer's course with them.

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