the first stab on innocence's cold body By George Gad Economou

at fifteen, I bought

a fifth of Bombay gin, planning to

swill it down in a couple of hours, in between

coming home from school and before

my parents returned from work.

I sank half the bottle, 

got plastered.

I tumbled on the hallway, staggering against

the walls. I put the bottle in

a plastic bag, hurled it out of

the window. aimed for

the trash cans, it crashed on the

street.

I shambled to bed, slept

inebriation away. my parents never

found out; it was the day I embarked

on the lifelong journey of destroying

my liver and liberating my soul.

I still recall the day I assassinated

innocence, proud for all the things

(good, bad, and felonies) I’ve done that made

me the slurring man that just

wrote this

poem.

Currently residing in Greece, George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science and is the author of Letters to S. (Storylandia), Bourbon Bottles and Broken Beds (Adelaide Books), and Of the Riverside (Anxiety Press). His words have also appeared in various places, such as Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Fixator Press, Outcast Press, Piker’s Press, The Edge of Humanity Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.