Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Wasted years What do they look like? Can you show in a picture? He nodded to himself as he thought about it Of course who other than him to know what wasted years look like After 45 years spent inside a box he was qualified to judge. And it wasn’t even prison. It was the office. Accounting. 45 years And today... Today he was the 65-year-old photographer who raised the camera before the mirror and snapped a selfie and said “I am wasted years.”
quite a few times she had to ask him why he was so shy He thought it was just normal to be shy on a first date no matter how many other dates you've been on with other girls He was afraid of getting too deep into relationships, mainly because girls didn't like guys who still lived with their parents He lived with his father who worked as a butcher His clothes were always stained by blood and smelled of salt and iron but worst of all was that he was drunk more often than not About thirty minutes into the date his phone rang and he excused himself to answer. It was his father "Listen buddy. I kinda need your help." "Dad, I kinda need you to understand that I can't save your ass every time you get in trouble thanks to your drinking. I'm busy right now." "Oh? Too busy to help your old man?" "Bye." "No, no, no, wait! Listen. It's just a simple thing this time. You just have to tell the police that your father is a butcher and that the eyeball they found in his rectum belongs to a pig and not a human being, okay?" "Dad, what the fuck?" "Please!" He hung up walked back to the table sat down smiled "Problems?" his date asked. "No, no. My father asked for a ride. I told him I can't right now. It's okay though. Nothing urgent or important." "Father, huh? Must be nice having one." "Oh, you don't…?" She smiled. "Nevermind that. But anyway, speaking of fathers, you think you'll be a good one?" "Huh?" "Cuz I surely won't be the best mother. See, I just found out days ago that my ex-boyfriend got me pregnant. You think you'll be a good daddy?" "Um… I think my dad's calling again…"
but unfortunately they aren't real You spend a whole childhood not wanting ghosts to be real only to one day reach adulthood and wander from empty room to empty room hoping foolishly that the wife that cancer took away would whisper something to you anything
Second feature in Terror House Magazine Check out the poems ->HERE<- TITLES: songless bird feeling the train Saint Bernards are big, heavy dogs an old instrument with rusty strings spend the quarantine at your girlfriend’s house, they said a woman named Cactus cat shaking the paw they are legend
those cold evenings coming inside the house and crying "Mom, I'm hungry." A whirl on the heels A stare colder than the outside weather Hands on her hips "Show me your tongue." The little mouth opens and the tongue comes out She stares at it and then grabs it between her thumb and index and studies it, gives it a rub and declares: "No. You're not that hungry. Get out of here and leave me alone." And her words carry the finality of God's words from the Bible because she is the god of this small world and her word is law
my neighbor from upstairs claims that God sticks post-it notes on his fridge overnight I did ask him what they said but he only told me that I'll have to follow him to church if I want to find out I'm generally not a very curious guy so I declined and, what do you know, few days later I see lots of other people following my neighbor to church They all looked the other way when I passed by them and said hi Thing is I don't even doubt God spoke to my neighbor through post-it notes and gave a lot of people hope I just like being the outsider more than I like being hopeful
He just had to stand walk to the kitchen open the fridge get a can of beer open it and come back to the desk sit down and lean back in the chair was this something to laugh about? Cry? Ignore? He emptied the can with gulps rather than sips to get as drunk as possible with a 4.5% alcohol concentration He sighed and opened the laptop again Stared at it double-clicked the internet browser pressed Ctrl and then H A history full of porn on his widowed mom’s laptop Of course it kept getting infected with viruses and she brought it over to be fixed Those websites were from the very shady family of porn websites He would’ve grabbed another beer but there was none left Better just get back to work and fix mom’s laptop What else to do? Fifteen or so years ago she surely knew what he was doing with that missing pair of panties and that bra She wasn’t dumb. The wheel turns Just like one of those titles from the history list said: “Busty slut stuck in cart wheel gets anally raped by hillbillies” He clicked it
every small hesitation takes a bite from your confidence, from your soul until you find yourself breathing in ashes of suicide notes Breathe deep and start writing the next one but keep the lighter close
4779 digital pages filled with ramblings about feelings thousands of grammar and spelling mistakes a broken heart consuming itself a final 'goodbye' that came out of a lover’s mouth long ago still echoing in the ears a stadium-load of cockroaches and rats partying in the house a mailbox chocking on unpaid bills her room a mass grave of empty bottles snowed with ash no income electricity about to be cut off and she’s still writing
he downs the second bottle of wine and then curses the beer for not tasting as good the rectangular desk before him looks round now and his chair grows wheels all the insects in the apartment crawl under the clock on the wall and spin the hands backwards lots of things are happening but the story before him doesn't write itself The paper is still pale the pen still frozen The next word will never come out let alone the next line He leans back and the demon calls from the other side of the window and tells him to hurry up "That's not how writing works," he whispers back But he doesn't know how it works anymore So he just stands and walks to the window opens it and answers the call
Daydreaming as a profession 