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climax is when she left you in the lurch to romance a simple text: “i’m gone, do not look for me.” tragedy is when you start fading away in the corner of your room like some words in a 70s newspaper. & as you sip her away with hard liquids, smoke & sadcore songs, her memory will sink down more to your heart. your heart: a graveyard for sour spittle of when you kissed; b…

This particular story doesn’t start with this sentence. It doesn’t even start at the point I tell myself I want to write a story. It actually starts on a horrid Saturday afternoon existing in the smoldering embers that is my childhood; in a time where time was simply a clock ticking away in the sitting room which doubled as a bedroom and love was sitting on a carpeted floor with my brothers devouring a large…

i. mama, these verses are stained with yesteryears’ distress, today’s tears and red- black ink of sorrowful solitude. ii. my mama who art behind the clouds tell me how to attain the sunny summit when my whole is drenched in darkness and death-blots smearing these pages? …i am sequestered to stare at the sunny sky. iii. my teacher asked me write about you and i wrote in a sentence: “my…

Her clothes smudged with dirt, and a hair awry as the chewed mango on her juicy palms. Lying face down on her milk thighs is her baby, Tema, who just left brother Femi’s hands for a napkin change. The moment little Tema escapes Femi’s arms into hers she broke into a shrill cry. The baby seems to prefer Femi’s hands more than her mother’s, perhaps, Femi’s hands seem to fry baby tears dry. Often times,…

The phrase you only die once seems to hold some iota of accuracy to a great number of the human populace; save for our protagonist Obiageli. For her, death came quite a few times throughout her existence, and each time she had thought it was finally her moment to pass on from this great big ball that spun itself around the sun year in year out. Each moment was horrifying— something right out of the…

it’s night time and you are not here, i pick up my phone hoping to find something of you somewhere but instead, i find myself turning on my music, and moving my body to the rhythm. i imagine us together, il mio amore, you sitting on a picnic mat and me doing the same thing that i am doing now dancing under the afternoon sun, watching you smile, your smile is so beautiful, it hits…

​The crew shared everything. EVERYTHING. It was kind of easy to. We had all met at the same time; first virtually on a whatsapp group chat created for our would be Class of 2018— where our mutual tendency to cause a ruckus was discovered, and then in person during our data capturing where it was further established. It was beautiful; eight boys— me, Alan, Cruz, Banire, Henry, Emma, Sammie and Folarin— thrust into the fabled…

In my earliest memory, I see myself staring at the sky; wondering why it was blue and how it always seemed to follow me wherever I went. I remember questioning why the ocean was also blue, and why it covered seventy-one percentage of earth. I found out that blue symbolizes trust, calmness and confidence. My favorite colour used to be red, then I found out that red symbolizes danger, war and death. Ever since then,…

This work is inspired by events untrue. Certain characters, names, incidents have not been fictionalized for writing purposes. However, this work of fiction is X-rated; not suitable for readers who aren’t eligible to drink beer. [PS: It’s criminal to use this piece as a substitute for wanking material]. By a show of honest hands, gentlemen, how many of you have received nudes from a girl? Anyone? I had my first nude picture delivered to me…

First time I saw you was at our first group meeting where you turned up looking like you walked straight out of Looney Toons. Pink shirt, pink shoes, animated face and body so skinny my boy Kay swore he could split you in half with his dick. You were looking vulnerable as fuck, as though if someone uttered the slightest mean shit to you, you’d just fall down and die. When I tried to start…

All you have to do is make them laugh. There wasn’t an iota of doubt in his voice as he said those words. They just came; soft and easy. Perhaps that was the way he had it with the ladies; soft and easy. Like the grace of an angel. Ife turned to me, his eyes fixed on mine. ″Do you think you don’t like girls?″ Ife asked. I thought about the question for a while.…

It was somewhere between life and death Somewhere between addiction and sobriety Somewhere between sadness and its delight Somewhere between wails and silence Somewhere between mourning and joy Somewhere between giving up and dragging on Somewhere in the freezing cold of hell Somewhere between night and day Somewhere between echoes and noise Somewhere between depression and elation Somewhere between a tangle of Labret and a clear field of wheat Somewhere on the tiled road of…

Stories are memories. Memories are the ingredients that make our monotonous existence colorful. There’s always the blandness that accompanies every situation; and there’s always a story. That story is what doesn’t make us remember how bleak and  boring that occasion was. The stories you have seen with your eyes, heard with your ears is what keeps you walking on the streets of Lagos. At night when the world is asleep, it visits your soul and…