You Laid Eggs Under my Eyelids? by Bogdan Dragos

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Chewers & Masticadores // Editora: Nolcha Fox

The close up of a housefly sitting on a tiled surface
Image Source: Snappa

the pains in his lower back

were killing him

“Fuck,” he said, “that’s what I get for

not investing into

a decent chair.” He reached into

his pack and took

out another cigarette. “But I gotta smoke

to stay alive.

What a shitty life.”

He typed for another 36 minutes

and then

his friend, the fly, came to rest on his

knuckles. He blew smoke

on it. Laughed

The fly had gotten inside a while

ago. It was a big one, very

curious, ever exploring. And now trapped

He never opened the damned windows

or the door

Sat there in his smoke

and rancid smells. Said they helped with

inspiration for writing. Said

no good writing ever came out

of a healthy mind

He leaned back in his broken chair

watched the fly circle around

the naked light bulb in the ceiling

shook his fist at it…

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The Watcher by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

the bartender was displeased with him and the patrons didn't like him much either He was the sickly, slender man who came at opening time and sat at the table by the window, watching the people outside he sat there until closing time problem was, he occupied that seat for so many hours in a row with only one drink usually a cognac sometimes he would mix all sorts of pills in it and wait for them to dissolve some did others didn't Regardless, he sipped at his drink and watched the people outside and spoke to nobody and seemed never to be bothered by noise, like he was deaf and the days passed and the weeks went by and he'd show up without fail When they did talk about him they called him The Watcher and speculated about his mental illness However, when I went to the bar myself…

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Sometimes You Just Have to Kill ‘em by Bogdan Dragos

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Chewers & Masticadores // Editora: Nolcha Fox

A hand pressed against a window with water droplets on it
Image Source: Snappa

watching the rain fall against the window

while listening to

whiskey blues

and thinking about her

and how great it would’ve been if she

were still alive

Only the whiskey is


and the cigarette

and the willpower to admit that

she never existed in the

first place. Not outside the pages of

the book

he was writing


Bogdan Dragos supervises casinos for a gambling company, working twelve-hour shifts locked in a dark office full of TV monitors. There he mostly daydreams and writes poems and stories. He also manages a poetry blog Daydreaming as a profession.

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a sad burglar

father wasn’t very happy
when he came home
in the night

his little girl,
playing video games
and enjoying snacks
and having an occasional sip from
mother’s wine and cider on
the couch in the living room
at 01:27 AM,
could tell

Father was very sad
even though he came home
money and a car full of stuff

He shied away from
mother’s kiss and hug

“What the fuck’s with you?”
mother asked,
seeing him like that. “You got
caught or somethin’?”

Father looked down
at his shoes. “I’d rather get caught...”

“What?” said mother

“I said… Ah, forget it. I can’t
do this shit anymore. This
is no way
to live life!” He reached into all
the pockets of his pants
and coat and fished out money,
very crumpled bills, and threw them
to the floor. “Look at this.
Look at it and think. In six days
it’s Christmas! And the children from the
foster home I’ve burglarized
are all going to find out they’ve been
on Santa’s naughty list.
Holy shit, I feel like… shit right now…”

“Huh? Is that it? Guilt?
Really? You feel
guilty now? What’s this, a sign
of getting old?”

“If not
then it should be,” he said. “The
two of us grew up in
a foster home just like that
one, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” she said, “and we hated
every second of it. So what? We
didn’t get presents
for Christmas. We were
lucky if we got more food and
an extra hour of TV, dammit. Kids today
are too privileged. Fuck ‘em
an’ let’s count this cash.” She
went on her knees
and started collecting
the crumpled bills.

He stepped
away from her. “I need
a break from this.”

“Bullshit,” she said. “What you
need, darling, is to first
of all stop being
a pussy, you’re embarrassing yourself
in front of your daughter, and
second you need a
strong drink and a good fuck. I can
take care of the last two, but
the first one is
up to you alone, okay? Oh, by the way,
did you also steal a new
tablet? I broke another one

“And a phone charger
for me,” said
their daughter from the couch.
“I didn’t break it. Just can’t
find it anywhere.”

He sighed
and took off his shoes
and went into the bathroom to
take a shower,
unable to get those poor children
off his mind. He hated

“Shit,” he said.

From the living room
his wife and
daughter started blasting really
loud music with
over the top, obnoxious
and dirty lyrics

“This is my life now,” he
whispered against
the water that flowed down from
the top of his head. I was better off
in the foster home. Sometimes it’s
better to be hurt by
others and struggle to stay alive
than to
know the only way you can
stay alive is by hurting others.
It’s times
like these that make me
think about
what that nun said to me
in the foster home when I learned
to write. You’ve a knack for it,
she said. I see a great
future for you as
a writer. Believe in yourself
and keep at it.
Shit… if I kept at it… I’d probably
write a story about a
sad burglar now
instead of living it…

a fine day to meet a genius by Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers & Masticadores

I saw him busy and focused beyond focus over a yellow legal pad that he held in his lap He squeezed the pen like struggling to strangle a snake and his tongue was poked and clasped tight in a corner of his small mouth for maximum concentration "Damn kid," I told him. "Now that's a flow state, if I ever seen one. What's your secret?" He made the briefest eye contact and said, "If I took the time to tell you, I'd lose it." That was the best answer I ever got. The kid was a genius. I was standing in the shadow of a giant right there in that cafe. I beheld a god But his mother wasn't very fond of me talking to her kid as I passed their table to go to the bathroom I tried to explain to her that I also write Kinda... Well that…

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Most Subjective Industry of All by Bogdan Dragos

Chewers & Masticadores // Editora: Nolcha Fox

The bust shot of suggestive pose of a young woman covered in different colored paint with a a multicolored wig on her head
Image Source: Snappa

“Some poets are lucky,” he said. “And

others simply aren’t.

Remember, as long as we talk

about the publishing


it’s all about luck.

Like, yeah, go ahead and name

one, just one industry

that is more subjective, or just

as subjective as

the publishing industry. I bet

you can’t.”

“Um, fashion industry?” I said

“Fashion bullshit,” he said.

“You’re not even close. Had you any

knowledge you’d know

the fashion industry is actually

not subjective at all. You just

gotta look skinny as a patient

who went through their

36th appointment for chemotherapy and

you’re good. You’ve made it

in the industry. Beauty is not

even a requirement. You just gotta be

skinny as fuck

and with plain features. Kinda like a

hanger that people

hang clothes on. Nothing more.

A well dressed scarecrow

can make it in the fashion industry.”

He turned to the side

View original post 342 more words


at night
with the

the world is finally

he fills another glass
and toasts with
the window pane
"Here's to normalizing
being awake at
night and sleeping
during the day!

the moon
smiles back
in agreement

giving the supreme gift by Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers & Masticadores

there was no
in mother's touch
as she seized him
by the shoulder
and stood him

"Never disturb your
grandfather again," she
told him

Never disturb a man
who is thinking
about death

He had learned the lesson
so well
that he started
the practice
And he wasn't even old

Death was fascinating
to think about

it was the topic of
the wise
while the ignorant and
avoided it
and associated it with

Death is
the opposite of
a curse
It is a gift

and the wisest of all
is he who
understands that
when it comes to
giving is more important
than receiving

Give freely
give abundantly

give the
supreme gift

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You’ve a great burden on your shoulders, young soldier by Bogdan Dragos

Don't forget to check out and follow MasticadoresIndia to find more writings to enjoy! Thanks ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ 

Chewers & Masticadores // Editora: Nolcha Fox

The silhouettes of a man holding an infant and raising it up with the backdrop of a curtained window
Image Source: Snappa

His child was an infant

who couldn’t

possibly consent to having

his father

use him like a therapy pet

But he did anyway

He wore his military uniform

as he held the kid in

his arms

and rocked him

and spoke to him

saying, “I have done it. I’ve killed

children just like you

in the war zone. Children with and

without parents. I shot them,

ran them over with the tank, launched

missiles at their homes

And I was trained to believe I was doing them

a big service. For death

was preferable to a life like theirs. And besides,

I only did my job, I followed

orders. I never watched their

eyes when I did all those things

but their eyes were watching mine, I know.

And I’ll never forget. So is it

fair that I should

return to my safe home

and my lovely…

View original post 111 more words

Bogdan Dragos has renewed with Masticadores

(づ ◕‿◕ )づ BIG THANK YOU to Masticadores!! 

Gobblers & Masticadores

Masticadores&Gobblers is pleased to announce that Bogdan Dragos has renewed with us; It is the fourth time and series that we will publish it. We have already sent by the author 50 pages that we will gladly present to everyone week by week.

We will say that Bogdan is very followed and the visits and readings of him are very high, with which sometimes an edition of a book of poems is not as read as his publications in Masticadores (and in MasticadoresIndia too)

Thank you Bogdan!


j re crivello

Founder and Director of Masticadores (16 blogs, in 10 countries and 5 languages)

Masticadores&Gobblers tiene el placer de anunciar que Bogdan Dragos ha renovado con nosotros; es la cuarta vez y serie que le publicaremos. Tenemos ya enviados por el autor 50 páginas que con gusto presentaremos a todos semana a semana.

Diremos que Bogdan…

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