How can you tell what's real in reality?
I don't know. But I can struggle to find out.
Poetry seems like a good place to start.
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REALITY CHECK – New Collection of Dark Poetry
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
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Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
love letter
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. A long time. So long and so tight did I
wrap the strap that I managed to damage the
veins in my penis. It's bad… I can no longer
get it hard now. At 29…
The other day I came home with another girl.
I was trying to replace you. D' you think I succeeded?
It just won't get up. And even when it did, it didn't
stay up. The girl thought it's because I
smoke two packs a day, but that's bullshit.
Everybody knows smoking doesn't actually affect
that thing. That thing is only affected by
the love men can't get past. And in my case it's
you. You. You. YOU. And I'm not even mad.
If I can't do it with you, then what's the point
of doing it at all? There is no point!
My love, you still haven't replied to any of
my letters.
That doesn't mean I'll stop writing and sending them.
I just want you to know that the red dress you
left behind… Well, it's faded now. I painted it
with unimaginable loads of white. And how could I
wash it when it still smells like you?
Well, I guess now there'll be no more of that…
But I still sleep with it on my pillow
and hold a part of it in my mouth.
I still love you, my love. And nothing will ever
change that.
P.S. The way I'll die will be with
your dress wrapped around my head
and the straps squeezing my neck. Now all the
means of self pleasure stand in that.
I love you.
He sealed the letter into an
envelope
and lit another cigarette
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Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
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
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Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
“if you’re going to see devils, see them beautiful” – POEM featured in Suburban Witchcraft Magazine!
◉‿◉ Ultra GLAD and grateful to be part of Issue 5 of the illustrious Suburban Witchcraft Magazine!
heavy cross, tight shackle
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
and suddenly the whispers that come from
the dark will become voices and
then screams
and they'll get him
A rabbit can die if it gets too
scared. I believe this is also
valid for my troubled brother. I'll only make
sure to leave a few sharp objects
near him
I know he'll do it
And I'm sorry that he'll do it
but there's no other way to break
this shackle
One day
I'll debate the issue with you, mother
But for now you can't argue with me
so I win by default
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Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
a king in his castle
at 08:22 he awakens and pushes
away the tarp he uses as blanket
he’s already dressed up
and wears shoes
looks around at the blackening
dampness of the walls
stretches a bit
takes off his coat and
the blouse
and the shirt
and the tank-top
grabs a tissue
wets it with rubbing alcohol
and uses it to wash his
armpits. He knows it’s good for killing
the bad smelling bacteria
He knows much about how the world works
for he’d been to school and even
one year of collage in his youth
When his armpits dry
he dresses up
and gets out and checks under the
big flower pots that stand before the
entry to the building
He is wise to keep his savings there
Otherwise the others would’ve
smelled it on him and would’ve
robbed him a long time ago
He counts the money
and feels satisfied with the sum
At 09:30 he eats a warm meal at the
local soup kitchen
and turns down
four bums who ask to borrow money
At 10:10 he walks up to the
big casino and
enters
Now his imagination kicks in
Behind the entry
he is greeted with luxury, he walks
on the red carpet
and sees the bright lights
and the game attendants who greet him
like a king
He is the king in his vision
and he had returned to his castle
He smiles
and walks around leisurely
A man needs to have but a clear
vision of a bright future
to live a happy present
He finds a seat
in front of a slot machine
puts the money into
the bill acceptor
and starts playing
He is one of the happiest
customers the casino
ever had
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Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
Vina-i o nicovală grea
English translation HERE!
(▔▀ ‿ ▀ )ლ ▂▂⌇
Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
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 the bed
and climbed in
and dragged the blanket, heavy with
caked dirt, on his body
and closed his eyes
He fell asleep in spite of
the smell of death
coming closer still
The dreams were always a little bit better
in the nap taken after
waking up from
the night’s sleep
One time he even dreamed he
was a published author. Not a great or
even a good one, but published
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Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
sub asediu
Check out the English version HERE!
(▔▀ ‿ ▀ )ლ ▂▂⌇
Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
Daydreaming as a profession 