Triple Treat

Three unique tastes from freshly roasted BCP royalty

Image by Vitaly Gorbachev.

Sudden Heavy Breathing - Melanie Cole

eyes open
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
stare stare stare
<side to side><side to side><side to side>
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
STOP.

breath.gulp.breath.
I am conscious but I can’t think.
What am I looking at?
The window?

eyes open
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
stare   stare   stare
<side to side><side to side><side to side>
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
STOP.


breath.gulp.breath.
then SUDDEN
                          HEAVY
                                        BREATHING
                                                                   SUDDEN
                                                                               HEAVY
                                                                                             BREATHING
inandoutinandoutinandout
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
JERK
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
JERK
inandoutinandoutinandout

STOP.
stare   stare   stare
blink blink blink

r e l e a s e

© Melanie Cole 2025

Image by Roberto Carrafa.

Reliquary - The Dope Doula

I write this with hands in withdrawal,
knuckles cracking in the cold dawn.
It still lingers at the edge of my breath
like the aftertaste of a summer storm.

It was the silver that mapped my nights,
the flicker behind my eyelids,
the hymn I followed through corridors
paved in midnight promises.
It sang me awake.
It sang me apart.

Now morning fractures, glass underfoot.
No surge to greet the veins,
no bright river running through my mind.
Just the hunger that won’t let me die
but refuses to let me live.

I wander these rooms echoing with absence,
joy sealed in jars I cannot open,
inspiration buried beneath old newspapers.
Hours split and drift

My mind flashes—wires crossed,
tiny currents sparking;
and I long for oblivion,
or silence,
or needle’s kiss.

It was my patron of impossible awakenings.
The world tastes of cardboard,
colours starve in my mouth.
I am a reliquary clattering with spent prayers,
a vessel abandoned by its ghost.

What remains is the outline of what I was
wandering the wreckage of what I became,
aching for a song,
aching for an end,
aching
for the drug.

© The Dope Doula 2025

Image by Camila Aguiar.

Perils Of a Woman - Laney Mills

I was born a woman.
As a woman, I walk this earth.
White pearls and shades,
to the world, my exterior is my worth.
The color of orchids color my lips
my hair fine like silk,
while Vogue says thick is in.
What to do? Extensions again?
Bees made honey to match my hair,
golden like the nectar they spin.
Size 2 bikini on ivory skin
”Sorry, not dark enough”.
Skin must be the color of sand.

Style, glamour, Vogue
the basic rules and code,
taunt me night and day
’til I am no longer myself,
not even alone.
Skinny, tan, and tall
”You are short? Sorry,
you are nothing at all.”
Short legs, long torso
short torso, long legs…
which one are you?
Pale or tan?
Broad shoulders or pear?
High cheek bones or bland?

Love me for who I am!
You seek perfection? Then seek again.
Wanting a perfect, hollow shell of a woman?
I am real if you choose me.
I am a person, you understand?
Born to be unique and free.
But with chains you bind my hands.
With measurements, you bind my mind.
Requiring perfection at each new glance.
I am trained to try to comply.

Love me, need me, want me
take me as I am.
Human and fallible I will always be
bleeding when thorns prick my skin
crying when someone hurts my feelings
I am real, you understand?
Love me, my ivory skin and all
small shoulders, fine hair.
five feet 2, eyes of blue —
I will love me the way I am.

Will you?

© Laney Mills 2025 - Originally published in Laney's Words Poetry and revamped for Black Coffee Poetry.

---