The Muse’s Bad Touch – New poetry collection by Bogdan Dragos

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.

good boy, Kyu

this morning the pills
have not been there

kitchen
top cabinet

not there

but of course the world wouldn’t explode
if he didn’t take
the pills for one day
Things were going too fine to
slip downhill now

He didn’t need the pills. It
actually was like the doctor said, the
power was inside him
The power to change
to become better
to leave the past behind. The
power was in him
And in dearest Kyu, his therapy dog,
a small corgi who needed to be walked everyday

He smiled as he thought of Kyu
called him
and Kyu came
and he put the leash on
and went outside

The rain didn’t bother either of them
Only problem during
rainy days
was the lack of other people
to socialize with
People hated rain and that was that
but not him and Kyu

They walked through the park
and the rain grew more intense
fatter drops
heavier
colder
louder
splashing

the little rivulets flowing on the
sides of the streets weren’t
so little anymore
This would turn out to be a total flood
better go back home

Kyu seemed to get the meaning
they turned back
and the rivulets at the sides of the street
grew more potent
and the leash grew lighter
and lighter

Gods! The rivulet carried Kyu away!

Oh God, no! Straight into the
curbside storm drain! In the sewer! Kyuuuuuu!

And there was no one on the streets
not even cars passing
He had to do something
by himself
because no one would help him
nobody ever helped him
He had to pull himself out of this ditch by
himself once
more

Cursing between clenched teeth
he dropped to his knees
and crawled into the
storm drain after his beloved Kyu

He landed on hard concrete and broke
his foot
so badly that
the jagged shinbone protruded through the flesh
and skin and came out like a
blade

He screamed and cried
and cursed the day he was born
and the people in his life
and outside of it
Of course everyone would be outside of it
Nobody would be in his life
not mother
not father
not sister
grandparents
friends?
What friends? He never had any of those

People were cold
people wanted to see him cry
because seeing him cry was their food
and they needed food to stay alive,
they needed to eat
and their hunger was insatiable

they should…just die actually

The dirty water showered all around him
and onto his wound
and onto his head and eyes
but he still saw it
He saw them
carrying Kyu away
dragging him by the paws
towards the darkest spot of the sewer
despite his whimpering protests

He screamed, shouted at them
but they wouldn’t listen
“Hey, you bastards, let him go!”

No, they would not let Kyu go
Words were not enough to
convince people. He had to do something.
He crawled after them
through the cold filth
with pain and determination propelling him

Oh, it was them, of course
Mother and father and sister
they were dragging Kyu away from him
just as they dragged everything away from him
This was too much
He couldn’t let this happen.
Too much!

He crawled after them
crying
screaming
cursing
and reached for his broken shinbone
and pulled it out of the leg
and stabbed them with it
again
and
again
He kept stabbing at their backs
their
heads, their throats, their chests, their arms
everywhere
stab
stab
stab

“Thought you could take
everything away from me
my friends, my life, my love, my soul, my
freedom, my purpose, my way,
my choices, my health, my possibilities, and
now even him,
my dearest Kyu?
Fuck you! I won’t let you! I
won’t let you!”

and he kept stabbing
and stabbing
stab
stab
stab

until that hand just wouldn’t
work anymore
and he fell with his head on Kyu
like on a pillow
as he always did
and darkness came about him

Good night,
Kyu

childhood’s villain

Father used his fists
a lot
Though never on the kids

On the walls
and the furniture
and the doors
and the mailbox
and the fence
and the neighbors
and random people on the street
and strangers in the bar
and a few times the poor dog
and one time on mother

He was the childhood’s
villain

To defeat him one had
to become a hero

and becoming a hero
took time

And today
after all this time
the villain of childhood
was dead

He died at the hands of
some other character,
a neutral one

A cop who told him to
drop to the ground
and father didn’t
so he got shot

That was it
The end of his saga

Utterly unsatisfactory
anticlimactic
disappointing
just bad

There was no final showdown
between hero and villain

because those things
only happen in
childhood
and childhood had ended a
long time ago

rice and walnuts

“I fucking hate rice,” she
told me. “And I’m beginning
to kinda
hate you for loving it.”

“Shit,” I said, “what
did rice ever
do to you?”

She opened her purse
took out the pack of smokes
and fished one out
with her lips. “Fuck,” she said,
looking for the lighter.
“I think I still
have the pits in my knees…”

“What?”

She shrugged. “I was a little girl,
alright, and whenever I
did something that my dear grandma
considered naughty she’d
pour raw rice in a corner
of the room and make me kneel
on it and just stand like that for…
I don’t know, hours.”

“Really?”

“Really!” She blew the smoke
in my face. “To this day,
bitch still wonders
how I could steal her savings
from the pension. I didn’t
even need the money. I just hated
her guts is all. And now
I hate rice. And you.”

“Well,” I said. “I never stole
from my grandma. And to
this day I don’t hate walnuts.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that was my version
of the punishment. I knelt on
shells of walnuts just
like you with the rice. And I
don’t hate ’em.”

She blew more
smoke in
my face

The great one by Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers / Masticadores

His name was always linked to the term elusive and he was universally acknowledged as a brilliant writer and an enchanted poet. And the day came when his little apartment reeked of rotting flesh and the authorities had to break his door down.

There was no family to inform but the whole country was now his family and there would be no problem regarding the burial. Oh, he would go with a ceremony that was bound to become national event. But luckily for the authorities the media didn’t smell the rotting yet. The four cleaners who sealed the apartment and entered to perform the expertise called themselves big and biggest fans of the great, late writer.

“Can you believe this?” one of them said. “We’re alone here with, dare I say it, unpublished manuscripts of The Great One. Oooh, I’m tingling just thinking about it.”

“God, look at this room…

View original post 539 more words

Green Cotton Candy

The Yard: Crime Blog

by Bogdan Dragos

from 07:30 in the morning and until
09:00 he stands by
the clothes store
and stares at his image in the gray window

He’s wearing a green suit
that now looks kinda brown and feels
in the same time
heavy with accumulated dirt
and light with missing patches

The people pass by him and look either
at their phones or away

At 09:30 he departs from the clothes store
and paces towards the
metro station
where he’ll spend the remainder of the day
playing the accordion for
uninterested ears

Still, some would toss
a coin or two in his hat. Out of mercy
or simply because they
were bothered by the change in their pockets

When the sun sets outside
he emerges from the underground
weighting his earning in one hand

He has a quick pace
despite never eating and never sleeping

The cotton candy stand is…

View original post 94 more words

New feature in The Yard: Crime Blog (Green Cotton Candy)

Feeling super blessed to have my piece "Green Cotton Candy" featured in the illustrious The Yard: Crime Blog.


Many thanks to the editor! 


Read the poem here. 

all we need is love

“and I still hadn’t changed my
opinion,” she said. “I still
believe that
a double suicide is the absolute
highest
display of love there is. Think about it,
two lovers dying in each
other’s arms. What in hell
can be more romantic?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “staying alive
for each other’s sake, maybe?”

“What? That’s, like, not
romantic at all. The longer you stay alive,
the higher your chances to fall
out of love. Nothing
chews at love like life does. That’s
why death is the answer.
It’s the only way
to immortalize love. It’s the way towards
that plane of existence where all
you feel is love and nothing else.
I wanna go there!” She squeezed her fists
and eyes, braced herself as
she said it.

“Well,” he said, “We’re both out of a job,
unwanted by family, no home,
no cash, no future…”

“All we really need
is love!” she screamed, jumping into his arms

“Yeah,” he said, “and an overdose.”

“I’m with you, dearest cousin!”

New feature in Edge of Humanity Magazine (fasting for muses)

Once again, feeling super-blessed to have another poem featured in the illustrious Edge of Humanity Magazine. 

This one's called "fasting for muses" 

Check it out here



( ^◡^)っ ♡ Thank you! 

bit by bit, little by little

there were times when she bit and
chewed the inside
of her elbow

to spit the bits of flesh
and the blood
on her grandma

but those times were over

almost forgotten

along with the teachings that
her blood is poisoned
because she was conceived with the
wrong woman, meaning
not the one grandmother intended for
her father

But today all those
people were dead. Only father was
alive

He was all right. A hard working
man, busy with life

busy enough not to notice
that his daughter
is constantly sprinkling ashes in
his food and coffee

He’d almost consumed the
contents of
his mother’s urn

there’s just
a bit left

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