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Vina-i o nicovală grea
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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sub asediu
Check out the English version HERE!
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faded silhouette in the mirror
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
had been opened and had no label
but you thought 'ah, what the hell, wine
doesn't expire. It's probably still good.'
Hah! It's not the wine, you cretin!
It's you. You alone are the cause of all trouble,
of all that's going sour in your life."
"Fuck you," he said
"Oh? That all you can say? You piece
of filth. I hope you don't recover from this
and finally do a service to the world
and stay dead."
But the words infused him
with the
needed adrenaline to keep living
On the next morning he
was feeling almost right
He dressed up and stood before the
mirror to laugh at the silhouette
but it was no longer there
"Ah, that's right," he said. "You died a
long time ago, mother. Thank you
for your service."
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ouija board
Well, when you’re desperate
you’re…
“Me,” he said
He was alone in the room and lonely enough
to have bought one of those
Ouija boards from some old woman
who called herself a medium
It was time to try it
out
All he hoped for
was a
sexy ghost that would haunt him,
maybe hurt him a bit,
he wouldn’t mind
Anything just to
take away the soul-crushing
loneliness
Anything!
He said the prayers exactly as the
medium instructed and
did the breathing exercises
and was ready to
use the board
he moved the piece
to spell HELLO
got no answer
Looked around the room
Nothing
Again, he spelled HELLO. IS ANYONE
HERE? ANYONE AT ALL?
ARE YOU FEMALE?
Nothing
Nothing new at least. Only more loneliness
and more frustration
and
lower down the rabbit hole of
misfits he slipped
WELL
FUCK YOU!
he spelled
and jammed the pointy side of the
piece into his eye
and rammed his face into the board
driving it further into his skull
After his body was
found
the media concluded that the Ouija board
must’ve been really
cursed
and the poor boy had summoned a ghost
or some demon
or something like that
and it killed him
Well,
they weren’t too far from the truth
And the saddest part of
all was that
the story was
powerful enough to make other lads
like him
try out Ouija boards just like
him
He was now a legend
among those
circles
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vomiting snake
in nights like this he would just drink
in the dark
and smoke
and lie on his side and
hallucinate
about a snake vomiting vibrating colors
on a white wall
Maybe the snake had eaten paint
But it was a small snake
no bigger than a worm
and the amount of dancing colors it vomited
all over was astounding
Enough to paint the whole house
But the colors would never
stay on the things they fell upon
The colors would
bounce around and dance and vibrate
mingle with each other and
part and mix again
and the small snake would vomit some more
and it would make a sound
like babies crying
All he wanted in times like these
was to crawl over to the poor snake
and comfort it in some way
pat its head, place it in his armpit
to get warm, feed it something, rub its
belly up and down and around
But the little snake
wouldn't come his way
Not even after he split the inside of
his forearm from
wrist to elbow to invite it
into his flesh
"Fine then," he said. "Stand there
and vomit until you
die. We'll still be together one day
whether you like it or not…"
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mother forbade feeding the poor thing
there was a dog outside and it kept
barking for some reason
Ah yes, it was chained
and the chain was terribly short
and the poor animal was hungry
Mother wouldn’t bother feeding it
No, mother wanted it
to die
because it had been father’s dog,
inherited along with the
house after father died
Mother forbade feeding the
poor thing
Her child stood next to the window
and listened to the poor
thing barking outside
It was better than listening to
mother drinking and
talking ugly words with her
boyfriends
He opened the
window
and the dog saw him immediately and
barked at him
He wanted to cry
Tried talking to the creature
but it wouldn’t listen. It kept barking
“Mother would cut my hand off
if she caught me
stealing food for you.”
But he was
a smart kid
He leaned over the window
and thrust two fingers
down his throat and
vomited before the dog
It was just close enough for
the tortured soul
to reach with its tongue
and that’s what it did
and the barking stopped
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a spiderweb full of butterflies, shaking in the wind
she stretched on the bed
and reached with
her long leg
and placed her foot on his desk
before him
on the notebook he was writing in
“Wow,” she said. “Your place is so small,
like a box of matches. And so
empty. So lonely. Why don’t
you ever have
anyone over? I never see or hear you
talking to people. Why
must you be like that?”
“I don’t like people,” he
said
"Why?"
“Don’t ask silly questions. For the
same reason I don’t like
hotdogs. I just don’t
like them.”
“Do you like me?” she asked
“I don’t know,” he said
“Would you like me to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know a lot of things, boy. I came
to you because… I wanted to
have a place from which I’d be missed
if I left. I thought the heart of
someone as lonely as you would
be that special place for me.
Turns out
you’re not lonely at all. You’re just
alone.”
“I guess,” he said
She removed her foot from his notebook
and turned
facing the wall
and began to sob
“Hey, don’t be like that,” he said. “I might
not be missing you if you go,
but…”
“But what!?”
“Well, you still remain my least detestable
hallucination. I like your
legs, with all their ten joints. I like
your crimson eyes, all eight of them. Your
fangs, your horns, the scaled wings, everything.
I really think you’re…”
“Yeah? You think I’m what?”
“You’re… what I need in my life
right now. So don’t leave
just yet, okay?”
“Hah! I knew you love me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Shut up, you don’t know it yet. But you
love me. Come to bed, you silly
oaf! Let’s sleep
and dream together. Something colorful,
vibrant. A spider web full
of butterflies. Shaking in the wind. Come.”
He closed his notebook
and went
to bed
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Daydreaming as a profession 