Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Here it is. THE MUSE'S BAD TOUCH A collection of dark poems highlighting the toxic and deadly relationship between poet and muse. DISCLAIMER: suitable only for a mature audience. D' you like the cover? I designed it myself ∩(・ω・)∩ Check out the free sample poems (and maybe leave a review). Thanks! I don't wanna say that the poems contained in this book are dark. It would sound pretentious right off the bat. But, yeah, between dark and light, you know already where they stand.
Image Source: Snappa I watch her every evening until late at night I’m always looking under her skirt Most of the times she’s wearing black and doesn’t bother to use anything that may absorb her blooming redness The matters of the living are beyond her now She stopped eating and weighs just a bit more […]
The Matters of the Living are Beyond Her Now by Bogdan Dragos
217 days
without speaking
or seeing each other
and suddenly she shows up
knocks on his door and says,
“Hey, we’re still together, right?
Still a couple?”
He didn’t answer,
just ushered her in
through a curtain of smoke
and moldy smells.
His small apartment
looked more like a cave
than ever before.
The walls were dark and irregular
with buildup of grime.
The cockroaches were long dead,
poisoned with cigarette smoke
and ashes
26 years her senior,
he was a modern caveman
Still lived in a cold, dark,
and gross cave,
but he had a laptop
and internet connection.
The screen
was the only thing
alive in the cave.
It showed a compilation
of short videos
featuring brutal executions
from all around the world.
“So how have you been?”
she asked.
His reply was a grunt
as his gnarled hand
reached into his breast pocket
and…
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The way she'd creep up on you and just appear from behind like some cat, you'd think she was some trained assassin or something I felt her punch my shoulder and then her other hand falling on my nape and squeezing "Hey, lucky boy. You should be so damn glad you ran into me." In the fist that hit my shoulder she held a bunch of crumpled bills and brought them before my eyes "What's that?" I said "Our tickets to the bar down the street. And you've the honor to accompany me there. Drinks are on me today. But you do owe me, don't think otherwise, okay?" "Where'd you get that money?" I asked. "Why's it so dirty?" "I stole 'em from Ol' Horn Nose while he was taking a shit." "What?" Ol' Horn Nose was the homeless guy who roamed around the block, usually begging in front of…
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but hell was just a floor below
in the living room
There was a blazing fire
in the fireplace
and there were plenty of screams
coming from mother and father
They argued again
And from upstairs, locked in her
dim room, she knew that
the gnashing of teeth and the shattering
of glass would not be late
in echoing through the walls
They always liked to break glasses
and bottles in the fireplace
while arguing
The fireplace was full of
sparkling shards now
She still remembered the afternoon
her little cousin came to
visit with aunt and uncle and not knowing
any better he tried to pick
the sparkling treasure from the
cold ashes of the fireplace
and cut himself pretty
bad
But who knows,
perhaps there really was a treasure in
that fireplace
Whenever mom and dad left the house
she would stand before the
cold…
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the last time they saw him happy was when he told them about that weird dream he had in which wine poured from the tap in his kitchen and that was it he had nothing else in life to be happy about They didn’t need to ask his profession Somehow they all knew he was a poet
there's been a collection of rather dark thoughts lately and he was studying it from the comfort of his bed The other day he found a good pillow in the dumpster and used it to cover the spot on the mattress where the rusty springs emerged Now the bed was fine again good enough for daydreaming After you've tried out all herbs and powders all that's left are the dreams the daydreams and the nightdreams and the nightmares and the daymares On another day spent dumpster diving he'd found a plastic bag with about six severed hands They were still cold some mafia shit was going on in the city He took them home and tried to cook them hoping to obtain at least some bits of meat He had no pan and of course no oil so he impaled them with iron rods at the writs and placed them…
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she never finished college but she was a pill expert and took pride in it "Here, this one'll make you rock against your will. You'd need some." "Not me," I said "You afraid?" "Yes." "Hahahahaaa, afraid o' some pills, boy? D' you know what being afraid of this stuff's called around here?" "I don't know what's called around here I'll call it wisdom where I'm at. No pills for me, thanks." "Wow, you're such a pussy, ain't ya? Oh, well that's too bad, I guess. Would've been fun to rock the bed tonight but I ain't lookin' for no pussy. I wanna give that." She gave it to one of my friends along with some sketchy looking pills and from that night on they were a couple of some sorts for a little over a month And when she took the right pills she talked in the wrong ways In her sleep to the walls to her cat to her left foot, but whispering so the right won't hear And when she was on pills she would have her new boyfriend hold her phone and not allow her to answer if her dad called Her dad didn't call too often but somehow managed to call when she was on pills He just wanted to check how college's going not knowing she'd quit or was expelled months ago "Ah, my daddy would so kill me if he found out. Like, yeah, he'd kill me as fuck! But that's all right. I'm all right. I know this dude who prints 'em, makes 'em look like the real thing. Just give 'im the ID an' cash and you're good. I'll be good." Well, I don't know I guess wisdom comes in many, many forms that friend of mine she hooked up with considered it wise to one day just tell her father the truth The phone rang for the fourth time and she was lying in bed naked with froth about her lips and eyes staring up into her skull probably looking for salvation or something He answered and introduced himself to her father and told him everything, even switched to video call to show the man his daughter He thought he'd save her life this way Sacrifice the relationship to save your partner's life I guess that's wise She went into rehab, I heard and, what do you know, a few years later she's married and pregnant I wonder how wise her husband is...
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there's nothing good on TV when you're in a crap mood "Shit," he thought. "Nothing's gonna be good on TV for the next 18 years. At least." he sighed and shifted his position on the couch four days till New Year's Eve and he already got the greatest gift one could wish for. A positive pregnancy test from his girlfriend Oh, he was over the moon and everybody knew "Meh, I don't need TV. I'm the best actor I've seen..."
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it was a sad
sight
lately
and the sounds coming
from it were even
sadder
Such was the house
of humans
Full of shouts
and objects banging and
breaking against the walls,
curses against gods,
against parents,
death threats,
agony
and grief
and pure rage
destruction
But not being humans
the two of them
watched from outside,
from their enclosure
outside their pen
“It’s the destiny of
all humans,” she told
him
“To fight each other
to death?” he asked
She nodded
her big, fleshy head,
making her ears flap. “That’s
right. The curse of
those humans is that
they’re trying
too hard
to place a male and
a female in the same space,
have them share the
same life
and actually expect it to
work out. How foolish.”
“Is there really
no way
it can work out?” he asked
“Ah, you’re so young. Barely
more than…
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That did it He was tired of coming home from work and finding a fucking book on the table instead of food but the book was also on his pillow when he went to bed on the toilet tank in the garage in the shed behind the house and on the dashboard of his goddamn […]
a self-published book on how to quit smoking By Bogdan Dragos — Gobblers / Masticadores // Editores: Manuela Timofte / j re crivello
Daydreaming as a profession 