the old boy wakes up three hours ahead of the world that lives in concrete buildings and one hour ahead of the competition and emerges from his damp tent looks around the park looks at the sky Overcast He stretches a bit and scratches his head and walks over to the fountain and has a drink collects some mint leaves chews on them spits and rinses his mouth The work clothes are already on him Boots two pairs of socks cotton and wool faded jeans a shirt a sweater and coat over them mittens and a cap that covers his ears as well It's now time to set about collecting tin cans around the neighborhood to make just enough for a meal and a half and maybe a few cigarettes sold individually It's been enough years for all this to become routine When you don't know of any better you don't expect any better And now he only did this to have just enough energy and life force to visit the public library and read heart warming poems
it wasn’t morning yet but he woke up to the sounds of cheering and applause He looked around and saw shadowy figures with elongated faces and bright, white eyes staring at him “Congratulations, they said. You have awakened.” “What in the hell?” he said, looking around startled. “Who are you?” “The messengers,” replied the shadows. “We are very pleased to announce that you may collect your prize whenever you are ready. You’ve earned it.” “What? What did I do?” “You awakened. In a world of sleepers you woke up and are therefore eligible for ascension. You might follow us through the hole in the ceiling whenever you are ready. All that’s left to do here is to melt the shackle.” “What?” he said Then one of the shadows have him a small bottle that smelled strongly of gasoline and a box of matches The other shadows pointed to his desk, to all the papers stacked on it and under it and all around it “Those are my poems,” he said “Indeed. They represent everything that keeps you tied to this world. Your shackle. Burn your shackle and melt it away so you can ascend and take flight. The time has come.” “I worked all my life to write those poems,” he said “Yes, you did. But now that you are awake you see that they’re all in vain. For nothing is real on this plane. It’s all a dream, of course. You have designed it pretty nice. A simple dream spent entirely in the confines of a narrow room with low ceiling. Drinking and smoking and writing all day long and late into the night. It’s a beautiful dream. No family, no friends, no communication with the outside world, and no desire for any. You’ve thus taken a shortcut to awakening, but it’s by no means illegal. You’re still eligible for ascension. So, whenever you’re ready, we are.” He watched the shadows The shadows watched him He reached out for the gasoline and matches, looked over to the desk and the stacks of paper Looked for a long time Closed his eyes and went back to sleep The shadows were gone by the morning but they left the gasoline and matches behind He got out of bed went to the desk by the window opened the blinds and started writing another poem
the other night she went to sleep listening to subliminal audios and woke up in the morning saying, “I am birds. Many, many birds trapped together in a bag of silk. This thing that the world looks at and calls my body is but a bag of silk that traps birds inside. I am not the bag. A bag isn’t alive. I am the birds inside the bag. And I must get out!” She ran into the bathroom Her father shrugged. “Fuckin’ shit,” he said, shaking his head. “To think that she could’ve been a doctor, or a lawyer, or an engineer. She could’ve been anything. But she chose to study creative writing in college. Now she’s a poetess... and we are no more than characters lost in her verses.”
there he was arriving on main street carrying a backpack and a suitcase both stuffed with papers “WELCOME TO THE TOWN OF FORGOTTEN POETS.” said the shadows that watched from the windows of nearby buildings He didn’t like the sound of their voices but he sighed and dragged his tired feet along they were almost as tired as his soul and just as hurt He'll have to live on the streets, for the town was overpopulated
like a baby left for hours and hours in a hot car he woke up with a sweaty forehead and a buzz in his temples no room to stretch he got out of the car in his underwear shook his legs and hands rubbed the pain away from his knees and back of the neck There was a bottle of water he got from the park fountain among the litter in the back seat he opened it hot took a sip and swirled it around his mouth spat took another sip swirled spat that’s for dental hygiene He put on pants and a shirt locked the car and walked 50 paces to the nearest public restroom where he removed his shirt and washed his hairy armpits He studied the violet circles under his eyes in the mirror checked his teeth his tongue felt for wax in his ears put on a professional smile went to the public library and the desk by the window was free His smile grew brighter as he sat down and opened the notebook Chapter 86 would be next in the manuscript He looked out the window This writer life was precisely as romantic as he thought it’ll be no more no less
Well no wonder he kept dying or the police would catch up to him in the first minute after hitting someone or stealing a car. The game was for big kids. It said so on the box. He got bored despite all the things he could do and put the controller down. He looked around the living room went into the kitchen She was nowhere He went upstairs opened the door to the bedroom and, well, she was there sprawled on the bed naked filming herself with her phone while continually stabbing herself between the legs with... a lightsaber? It seemed painful too. She was gasping. "What are you doing?" he asked. And her response was a scream She pulled the lightsaber thingy out and threw it under the bed and turned off the phone. "Hey, what did I tell you about entering without knocking?" "Nothing," he said. "Well... Just... Just don't tell anyone about it, okay? And why did you come upstairs anyway? "I'm sorry. Look, I keep dying at the game." She came downstairs with him grabbed the controller unpaused the game "Watch this." Circle, Right, Circle, Right, Left, Square, Triangle, Up She passed the controller to him "Okay, now go kill somebody." he crossed the street and punched an old lady to death and then stomped on her body everyone saw that no police showed up no yellow stars. Nothing. "Whaaaaat? I don't believe it." He wandered into the street, stopped a car opened the driver's door pulled the driver out beat him to death and stole the car. No police "How did you do it?" "A boyfriend taught me. Along with many, many other things. You can even get a device that lets you fly." "I don't believe it!" "Believe it. Infinite health too. I can do that for you. If, of course..." "Yes, yes! I'll keep the secret. I swear! And I swear to God you're the best, best babysitter I've ever had. This! This is what I'm gonna tell dad when he gets home. I swear!" "Don't bother. He knows."
Dad was fat all his life Obese He couldn’t do a lot of things. Walk without special help Bathe Climb stairs Sit in a normal chair Drive a normal car Sleep in a normal bed And say “I love you, son.” To draw those words out of his dad he became a cartoonist, but that also failed. And now that his father was dead, collapsed face down on the kitchen floor, blood seeping out of a head wound, he struggled to turn him over on his back and dipped his finger in the blood and drew a speech bubble next to his father’s head and wrote in it the famous words. Finally. “I love you too, dad.”
because it’s nice to be young because it’s nice to be in your early to mid twenties and it’s nice to do the thing after you’ve done the thing the thing that comes after you’ve done the thing is always the same but the thing that leads to the thing is often different this night it was white powder they shared it neatly between each other and then climbed into bed “Christ,” he said. “I still can’t believe you sucked dick for this shit. And a carload of it. What was it, like four, five guys?” “Oh, shut your hole, you pauper-ass. If you had a job like a decent motherfucker I wouldn’t have to do that shit, you know?” “Shit, baby, don’t make this trip worse than it is.” “You started it.” “Whatever, let’s just get to the next thing already.” “I haven’t even bathed. You know, after taking on that carload…” But it was too late to think. the first thing kicked in hard and it lead to the other and a brain wasn’t needed for any of them and the cold wind blew through the broken window and dried their sweat
They had the poor girl lie on the cold tile floor and then they all pissed on her and you could hear them tell her to open her mouth wide and stick her tongue out It was one of the poorest videos on the site but the women watching it recognized the girl She went to the same high school as them back in the day So trashy porn is what she turned to Not exceptionally unusual, but one of the kids running in the park before them was her child Just eight or nine "You know," said one of them. "Like it or not it's just a matter of time until our sons catch wind of this and then..." "Oh my..." "Goodness!" "The sins of the parents are visited upon the children. It's not fair. Imagine the life her poor kid's gonna have." "Yeah, our own kids might very well be the bullies, we'll never know. Like I said, it's a matter of time..." "Well, goodness, what can we do about it?" "Flag the video?" "You know it won't work..." "Oh, I got an idea. What if... you know, what if we all uploaded sexy vids of us. Um, not necessarily as trashy as this one but just pornographic enough. The boys won't be able to gang up and bully one if all their mothers did it... Right? C'mon, let's do it for that poor kid. Think about his future..." The other mothers looked at her and they kept looking mute until one of them pulled out her smartphone
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.