Shannon Cassidy

by Horror Sleaze Trash on May 21, 2011

Shannon Cassady is currently enrolled at Concordia University in St. Paul, Minnesota. Her life goals include getting her MFA at UNC Chapel Hill for lyricism and narrative writing, compiling and publishing an autobiography, and creating an organization for children to help them tell tell their stories. Humor is something that she greatly appreciates- she favors quirk and wit. She is a sucker for JD Salinger- especially his masterpiece: character Holden Caufield. Shannon seeks to writing to truly express herself and to “tell her story”. Like any young adult, she struggles with an addiction to Facebook, along with other ridiculous mainstream source of communication- but doctors say this soon shall pass. Shannon has forthcoming features in Used Gravitrons, The Camel Saloon, and The Vapid Kitten.  More at the tumblr here.

IT’S A LOOPHOLE

C.O.D., I believe, is often misunderstood for G.O.D.

But, then again, “You and Me” was easily replaced by “You and She”.

Rhymes drive me crazy.

Poetry is dumb.

Thoughts of you still haunt me, leaving my soul numb.

MY OLD BEDTIME STORIES FUCK WITH MY LIFE

My brain is like a traffic jam. “I do not like green eggs and ham”… I don’t know what to write right now; but I’d like to know: “how now, brown cow?” My brain is not like any other: at times I ask, “Are you my mother?”… I cannot focus, not even at all- “a person’s a person, no matter how small.”


NOW I KNOW THE REAL REASON WHY GRANDMA ALWAYS BOUGHT US UNDERWEAR FOR CHRISTMAS

Ohio never tasted so sweet. We tumbled backwards into the star-lit apartment, the smell of frozen pizza and stale Axe lingered in the air. Our feet shuffled across the floor as we searched for a vacant spot to rest. We grew tired and settled for the arm of the couch. I didn’t mind the pile of turned-over Sports Illustrated magazines watching us as we shared how we truly felt towards one another. In fact, I kind of enjoyed that sexy little smirk that the shirtless, milk-mustached, David Beckham had on his face as he witnessed me kiss the clichéd love of my life. The thermostat must have been playing tricks on us. Sweat began to trail it’s way down the side of his forehead, my palms grew clammy- I fell more and more in love the further our bodies sunk into the beige leather couch. Our lips collided once more, with a finishing gasp for air- “Do you—” my mind went blank as the repulsive image caught my eye. The moonlight was perfect, the mood was no longer. There, in the corner of the hall lay a nasty, crusty, pair of underwear. I pulled back from him and completed his sentence, “want to do laundry?” Giving him a light kiss on the cheek and patting his chest, I helped myself up, “Sure do.”

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