Sometimes You Just Have to Kill ‘em by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

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

missing

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

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 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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adventure girl by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

It is known
You can never hold on to
an adventurer

and she was one

And she was gone

and he stood by the window
and smelled the
guitar she left behind,
not knowing how to play it

A girl like her
travels around the world
like a sailor and
loves many boys and men
and they never forget her

The one mistake
they all share is
trying to lock her in their
world

It’s like trying to
capture the sun’s light in
a bag and take it
into your dark house

Women like her
are responsible for
men who call themselves
romantics and write love poems
and dream

He struck the cords
of the guitar
once. Looked out
the window. Warm, sunny day.
Streets busy with children
running fast, passing by
adults who walked slow

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a man doesn’t need much to cling to life by Bodgan Dragos

Gobblers & Masticadores

A lone ant crawled into his hair and went across his forehead to his eyelid He woke up Sand all about him and wood above But this was so far from hell Hell was a thing of the past now Now he had her by his side She was still sleeping in her rugged sleeping bag For the past few days they slept under the cabin to avoid being ambushed inside He knew she wouldn’t be by his side for long. The infection in her mouth was really getting out of control putting her one outrageous fever away from death This was the world today A warm wasteland full of predators and no medical help of any kind. Kill or be killed. Law of the jungle. And so on He liked to believe he adapted Too many didn’t His luck stood in not having that much of a fine life…

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TV Remote by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

Image Source: Snappa

a thief had entered the house

and all

he stole

was the TV remote

Perhaps some prankster kid

because at times

the TV would act strange. So he’s probably

close and messing with them

there was only the two of them

home. The old man with

dementia and his

daughter, not a very young woman herself

unable to speak,

the old man

began to cry because he couldn’t

watch his favorite

cartoons on TV

and he cried and cried and kept crying

about it

It was too much

and, the daughter thought, it was

about time. About time she

left the past behind and

started her

own life. She was 39, childless,

no husband, no boyfriend, nothing.

Over the next few days

she arranged for the old man

to be placed into foster care. He was still

crying.

Sacrifices had to be made. She was wiping her

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tarot reading by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

She was sucking on a red lollipop quite loudly and would constantly take it out of her mouth to stir her whiskey with it She wore round sunglasses a crimson bandanna her hair in thin dreads and all her shirts were sleeveless She took the lollipop out one more time and pointed it at him across the table “You want some?” she asked “Um, no thanks. I, uh, stay away from sweets.” She dipped the lollipop back into the glass and stirred a bit then put it back in her mouth “Good for you. I’m not too fond of these either. Just use ’em to help me break the smoking habit. It’s been working lately.” She picked up the glass and took a sip of the lollipop-flavored whiskey “Anyway, like I said, I brought you to my place to read your tarot cards.” She pulled the deck out from under…

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Just an Illusion by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

The black and white close up of a young woman's face with the features replicated and overlapping one another
Image Source: Snappa

like it’s been painted a million

times, the room

seemed smaller

narrower

suffocating. The

window too small, the

door too sturdy,

ceiling too low

and the generator of

the illusion

stood across from her on the bed

He’s been around for a year

and six months

Result of her first

and surely last

non-aborted pregnancy

It was like all the rage and bitterness

of the previous three

remained in her womb as residue

and had seeped into this

fourth one

who would punish her for the rest of her

life

But of course this too

was just an illusion, it was only in her mind,

remnant of a failed

creative writing career…

Across from her on the bed

stood but a normal child

but gods, it was more than enough

for someone who wanted none

-BOGDAN DRAGOS

Bogdan Dragos supervises casinos for a gambling company, working twelve-hour…

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lab rat by Bodgan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

so, you're writing poetry or, well, at least you pretend to and you pretend you're good at it and the people want more from you nice but how come none of what you write is uplifting stuff? if anything, you've got more depressing shit than uplifting stuff and you expect to get popular with that? get real! you've got to inspire people you've got to write motivational stuff, uplifting, hope giving stuff, upbeat verses brimming with intelligence and radiating brilliance your words are like confetti on a page why are they so scattered? what poem is this? why does it start with a lowercase letter? are you dumb? Don't you know how to write? you're unbelievable, man, unbelievable and don't even mention the nonexistence of rhymes, pfff, lame... this is not a goddamn poem, fool it's child's mockery and you should grow up and stop pretending you're doing this for…

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Kissed So Hard by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

A close up of a pair of red lips and parted teeth holding metal pieces
Image Source: Snappa

“Have you ever kissed a lover

so hard

you chipped a tooth?”

she asked

with a grin that

revealed more than one

chipped tooth

He shook his head. “No, and I

really don’t intend

to.”

Well, that’s what you get

for hitting

on a girl you meet

in the yard of the local asylum. But

she said she was a

nurse.

“Anyway,” he said. “If this is what happened

to you… What happened

to him? I mean,

after the kiss.”

“Oh, there were many,

many kisses actually,” she said. “He’s

dead now.”

“What? He died?”

“Well, yeah, dogs don’t

live that much. Compared to humans

I mean.”

-BOGDAN DRAGOS

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…

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poets and happy endings by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

"When you no longer
see the shadow of what
kept you strong
it's time to let go."

Those would be the last words
he wrote
at the back of the notebook
he filled with thoughts
and rants
and poems

‘Thoughts That Come From
The Heart’
was the title

and the work will remain
for long after he'd
pass away

At least that was the plan

But alas,
as he gave his final breath the
cigarette rolled from his fingers
to the desk and all the way
down on the shaggy carpet

It was a matter of minutes
until the
whole room became
a snapshot from the inferno

It's almost like the gods
want to send
a message. They want to
say that poets
rarely
if ever
have happy endings

I'm starting to
believe that
more and
more as
the days pass

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