There was a time when he’d fear nothing more than the bluntness of the empty bottle his torment his nightmare, his hell The bottle would be all right as long as it stayed full It was like Lucifer before the fall Oh, but once it emptied then it would change completely Then he’d see father’s grip reverse on its neck and turn it into a blunt weapon that delivered its fair share of bruises and scabs on the scalp It never broke like in the movies but it surely hit harder than wood But in the end after all those years of standing in its greenish shadow he found himself thanking the bottle It’s simple What you don’t pick up you don’t end up holding He never touched a beer in his life and certainly didn’t use the bottle as a blunt weapon against anybody not even against his own father as revenge The cleaver was far more effective
to choose the bottle
there are many reasons a woman can say her final goodbye to you and somehow they all feel different He supposed the worst of all had to be when her final goodbye is influenced by another man made sense but that wasn't his case Also he was too drunk to think straight now. And in too much pain “It's the final goodbye,” she had said. “You chose the bottle over me, now live with the bottle. Goodbye.” Goddammit, this really hurt His dick was only getting harder and more blue stuck in the mouth of the bottle Yet still, through all the pain and the dizziness he reached for the phone and called her. He said, “Hey, I just want you to know that… It was you I had in mind when I did it. I did it while thinking of you, love.” She hung up
Love letter by Bogdan Dragos

Usually it was after the second pack of smokes that inspiration came into his soul but today it came after the second cigarette And when inspiration hit he'd grab the paper and pen and write letters old style He was a romantic My love, he wrote, this is the 272nd letter I write you, and its subject will be the idea of impossibility. I think impossibility is highly subjective, my love. I for one can climb Mount Everest in my shorts if I want to, but one thing I'll never ever do is get over you. I dream you every night. Every. Damn. Night. And I wake up and grab the dress you left behind and I wrap its strap around my penis like one of those rubber rings meant to make you last super long. I've been doing it for… a long time, love. Believe me…
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a distracted dreamer
what else to do when the rain falls so heavy against the window outside? Get melancholic get poetic have a drink have another close and then lock the door to your room and don't listen to the voices coming from outside They want to distract you They don't want you to be successful and make it in life They're all haters He covered his ears and squinted his eyes at the computer screen doing his best to block out the negativity that came from beyond the door “I can't get up!” the voice croaked. “Come help me. I can't get up.” And then with a cry, “Please!” “Shut the fuck up, grandma! I'm trying to write in here. Jesus Christ, I'm trying to make it big, don't you understand? For fuck's sake now.” He had also sent a manuscript to a potential publisher and was waiting for a reply. It's been two days already
Interview with Author and Poet Bogdan Dragos

Biography:
I was born in 1992 in Romania and had a happy childhood until I went to school. I never had an answer to the question “What would you like to become when you grow up?” and still don’t. But I was lucky enough, after college, to land a job as a dispatcher at a gambling company. There, I spend 12 hours alone in the office (day and night shifts) supervising casinos through CCTV cameras. I like to think I learned a lot about humanity from this. But I also learned a lot about myself. It’s also where I started writing.biog
What is your greatest accomplishment as a writer so far?
That’ll be the publication of my poetry chapbook, “Pour The Whiskey Over My Heart And Set It On Fire”. In August 2020 I found myself with quite a bunch of poems and no audience, so I started submitting a…
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heavy cross, tight shackle by Bogdan Dragos

The house doesn't feel like home, mother. Not since you left for the other world after father left for another house from outside town Now there's just me here. And my older brother who is younger than me mentally and will remain so for the rest of his life He still hears whispers coming from every dark corner of the house and because of this our electric bill is enormous I can no longer take this I'm not strong enough I'm not willing enough This cross is too damn heavy. It's breaking my back, breaking my soul I want to get a better job and eventually a car and a wife and start a family I can't do that while taking care of my troubled brother I quit. Tonight I will make his nightmares come true The electricity will go out…
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Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 02/01/21
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\╭☞ \╭☞Big thanks for the feature!
a dead body in the room
there was a dead body in the room
Had to be
Else where did the smell
come from?
Every time he’d turn around to catch
a ghost or a zombie
from the corner of his eyes the smell
would slap him
A smell of death
He decided he’d look around for the
dead body
but later
He didn’t have the energy now
or the disposition
or anything
He only wanted to sleep
some more
He just woke up and needed a good
nap to recover
Perhaps there were times when it
didn’t make sense
but now, today, nothing made more
sense that this
All you need is a healthy
dose of chronic depression and it makes
sense
Just like not cleaning the room
and not taking a shower
in a time longer than memory can be
bothered to remember
So he paced back to…
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king who would go down with honor
he had no shoes and you could hardly call his shirt a shirt but he sat between those two trash cans like some king on his throne holding to a stick like a scepter He drank from an old rusty can of beans but held it like some golden goblet Clearly he lost the ability to taste because in the can he mixed all he could find in the trash Beer with vodka with tequila with wine and acetone and rubbing alcohol He had a fearsome guardian about him A white dog who constantly licked his vomit from the ground It looked black and spongy like coffee grounds Some passersby offered to help him and he refused This was a king who would go down with honor after he lost his kingdom
they are legend
the little girl was scared at first but now she was terrified and about to have a panic attack He kept her tight in his arms and covered her ears and told her to calm down and that everything will be all right It was 02:24 AM and the knocks in the door and all around the walls and windows still carried on And there were howls coming from outside and curses and a constant sound of nails scratching on wood “Daddy, I’m scared! I’m…” “I know, dear, I know. But you have to calm down. Remember to focus on your breathing like I told you. Deep, deep breaths, okay? Deep. In and out. I promise you, tomorrow everything’s gonna be fine. I swear.” “Is it zombies?” asked the little girl. “No, dear. It’s something else.” “What’s it called?” “An ex-girlfriend, dear.”
faded silhouette in the mirror
By Bogman Dragos

the worst part about being alone and sick is being sick but perhaps the second worst is having no one to comfort you He reminded himself aloud that it was his own choice and rolled on the carpet and pushed his thumbs inside his eyes The head was killing him, like the brain grew legs and constantly kneed his eyeballs from the inside, seeking to push them out like caps of beer bottles and exit through the holes And his stomach wasn't any better although it got everything out some time ago The first few coughs came with liquid, pungent vomit but now there was only blood "You can only get what you deserve," whispered the faded silhouette from the mirror. "You might think all this is caused by the bottle of wine you found while dumpster diving as you do. It…
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