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・)∩
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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.
This morning as she appeared at the foot of his bed, in the light of the covered window, she sucked at her lips and said, “Ah, to spend one's life ever thinking about the girl one thinks one's not good enough for. Pathetic. I so pity the loser who lives life so. You know why?” In response he sighed and turned around and dragged the blanket over his head he was used to breathing the carbon dioxide from underneath the covers rather than fresh air from above But she would not go away this time. Small hands on sharp hips, she said, “What would you do if you found out that the girl you're so obsessed with... is secretly twice as obsessed with you as you are with her? What would you do, eh? If I told you that she's praying night and day to known and unknown gods, begging…
It's late 23:58 not many buildings around and even less people a few trees and bushes and a mostly empty parking lot I walk towards my car when she comes out from behind the yellow dumpster approaching me holding a clinking piggy-bank in her pale outstretched hands “No thanks,” I said and resumed my walking, checking my pockets for the car key “But,” she said, “if you don't take it I won't be able to haunt you tonight.” I stopped Turned around Walked back a few steps to face her again I pulled out a coin and tossed it into the small opening of the piggy-bank There is a middle way, apparently If you have an infinite amount of coin tosses you have a possibility of landing it on neither heads nor tails Eventually, it'll land on its edge and stay so I think it did on that night I'm…
vecinul de deasupra
susține că
Dumnezeu îi lipește
notițe pe
frigider în timpul nopții
L-am întrebat
desigur
ce scria pe ele,
însă el îmi răspunse că trebuie
să-l urmez la biserică
dacă vreau să aflu
În general nu sunt
un tip curios
așa c-am refuzat. Și ce să vezi,
câteva zile mai
tărziu văd o grămadă de oameni
urmându-l pe vecinu’
la biserică
Se uitară cu toții în
cealaltă parte când
am trecut pe lângă ei
și-am salutat
Adevărul e că nici nu mă-ndoiesc
că Dumnezeu
i-a vorbit vecinului prin
notițe și a dat astfel speranță
multor oameni
Doar că,
pur și simplu,
îmi place mie să fiu
pe din afara oricărui grup
mai mult decât îmi place s-am
speranță.
the best part about her is that she can never use the element of surprise No, she's always writing with thick carpenter crayons on the walls and details all her plans A STRAND OF HIS HAIR, she writes this evening. AS HE FALLS ASLEEP, I'M GOING TO CLIP A STRAND OF HIS HAIR AND HIDE IT BEHIND MY EYEBALLS. I'LL PUSH IT DEEP He reads the words as he puts on pajamas and goes to bed and pretends to be asleep when his wife comes to cut his hair with the scissors He smiles to himself thinking, or rather knowing for sure, that he'd found true love in life Mental illness is not something to get in the way on the contrary... there is a middle way, apparently It's late 23:58 not many buildings around and even less people a few trees and bushes and a mostly empty parking lot…
there is something about
walls
and man's
inborn need
to be surrounded by them
It's those who
grew up
not surrounded by them
that know best
Last night
was
for him
the first night spent
alone between four walls
in a long, long time
and it wasn't even
a jail cell
It was a
rented room in the basement
of a building
Small, narrow, yet big
with emptiness
Just a bed, a wardrobe,
a desk and
a chair
and nothing else was needed
to feel fulfilled
and to dream of
something so warm and wholesome
as a woman
sitting on a pillow
on the floor,
holding a cotton swab in one
hand and inviting with
the other, pointing to
her lap
Heaven
Four walls, man. Only four
walls and a break
from the madness outside
and there you have it
Heaven
the old man wrote about miracles and wrote that it takes a miracle to know a miracle They found him dead over his writings on the day before Christmas and declared that he had been dead for weeks But of course that couldn't have been true His daughter was home but days ago and found him alive He smelled strongly of alcohol and sweat and rotting flesh, but he was moving just like any other living man Hunched over his small desk and typing on the keyboard dead men can't do that “Must've been a miracle then,” said the doctors. “According to the expertise, and the expertise is not wrong, this man has been dead for at least a week and a half.” But of course the doctors were men of science and men of science knew nothing about miracles The writer was alive. Even without a beating heart and…