he was a very old dog and he left hairs everywhere he sat yet despite all that she let him sleep in the bed besides her Only because her family said it was wrong By definition everything those people called wrong was right and vice versa So the old dog slept with her The old dog was all she had left The old dog was the only one who stood by her side that time she overdosed on sleeping pills The old dog was the only one who didn't agree with mother when she said, "Oh joy, another suicide attempt. I wish she'd succeed at something for once in life but… well, no such luck, I guess." The old dog had died four days ago but she still kept him in bed besides her
It's the little things that tell the difference but many times there's no observer to notice them Little things like ignoring all the beer in the fridge and going straight for the cupboard where the tea bags stood untouched for years Chamomile Caramel Pear A fine combination He took out one little bag and filled the kettle with water and placed it on the electric stove and looked out the window while waiting for the steam to whistle Rainy weather outside Overcast weather inside, in his heart Also he had no smokes left and no one to smoke them with so he took the lighter from inside his pocket and lit it against the glass of the window and said to the flame, "You said you'd leave. But you never left. It was a lie. Else why do I feel you closer now than when your body stood right next to mine? Doesn't make sense. You never left…" The glass started to blacken around the flame and he retreated it "You never left," he said. "You are so close now and had taken over so much of my mind that I started doing the things you loved and I hated." The kettle whistled behind him He turned around. "You never left…"
She walked on tiptoes around the house and bounced a few times and spun like a ballerina and sang, "Today I don't wanna diiIiIIie." It was rare for her but he sure was glad to see it. Glad and now a bit anxious not to do something that would disrupt her happiness. It could be anything really She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his neck to bring his body closer to hers and said, "Let's open a wine bottle and make love." He smiled and nodded and instinctively brought a hand to his head to feel the scab from the last opened bottle of wine
it's a bit cold I'm sitting by the margin of the river Fishing A bit upset There were too many fish who escaped my nets I sigh throw 'em again wait I catch one pull it out and stomp on its golden head rip it apart from the body and drink its blood ... Yeah, bullshit I'm sitting in the office night shift supervising casinos through CCTV cameras it's 05:53 and I'm ignoring work to write poems like this one and something always comes up and makes me forget my ideas The phone rings Some customer causes trouble in some casino Some other customer is suspected of cheating A bouncer falls asleep on his chair due to lack of activity The game attendant flirts with a customer There's a bill fallen on the floor and I've to determine its owner A bunch of idiots are being too loud Some other idiot keeps demanding alcohol but his bets ain't worth shit and so on and on and on And the goldfish escape through my fingers and the eyes of my nets are too wide and that just sucks, man It really does But I pick myself up and tell myself what I always tell myself A writer writes A writer writes A writer writes Just like a fisherman fishes And you don't stop because the catch is rickety You continue because of it
Yep, I know I’ve the voice of a 96 year old man on his deathbed despite being in my 20s. Also my pronunciation’s all over the place due to lack of practice (English ain’t my 1st language). But behold I got drunk and silly one afternoon and told a few friends about my poetry blog. You know how these things end up. Here I am now recording my own voice — with intonation, mind you — reading my poem.
FCS focuses on humour,
offbeat poetry and exploring things different
Hands up all those who like kitties?….
(Sea of hands….)
Mr Bogdan has drawn one specially for you
(=’ ᴗ’ )
(, (“) (“)
What do you say?
Thankyou Mr Bogdan…..
The children seem impressed with your drawing ability. Have you considered a teaching aid art book for kiddies? Stay clear of (◉ܫ◉) though. Bit scary for them…..
Oh, infinitely beautiful girl you are not alone she wrote with scarlet lipstick on her mirror But words alone don't change hearts and she was infinitely unhappy cursed doomed All the boys and men said yes to her but her brother still said no
"Eh, sorry, sorry," she would say but the wound would be already open She would close her eyes squint them poke her tongue out and shake her head "Sorry." She liked to bite couldn't help it "You're gonna kill somebody one day. Bleed 'em to death or something." "Sorry, sorry." but some people some girls are just impossible to stay mad at Despite her words there was no remorse for opening the wound no remorse for licking it making it bigger with her tongue And no remorse for sucking the blood out of it She never swallowed Just swirled it around her mouth, loving the saltiness and the taste of metal, and then let it drip down her chin She was arguably one of the greatest among the great ones
Run wild That was the motto Of course it didn’t address running wild in the streets and away from angry shopkeepers and the police and rival gangs and betrayed friends It all starts with a run from responsibility, evading reality “Think you can live like that?” father had said. “Go ahead and try. C’mon, not like you’re of any use round here. Go!” He went and the years have passed and he was never missed But tonight he would return with a couple of friends some rope and a few sharp objects A dim light was flickering in the kitchen meaning the old man would be at the table with a belly heavy with drink and a head light with fumes So not much changed "Well, let's go."
Yeah, there were those times when he talked with grandma about God and she told him what a horrible place hell is "You suffer every day but can't die." "Every day?" "Every day. And can't die. Only suffer!" Grandma had four years of schooling to her life She didn't consider the possibility of getting used to the suffering If it happens daily and you don't die... well. Hell therefore is not pain It is monotony Today he had 18 years of schooling and 10 of working a dead-end office job He was accredited to define hell Hell was monotony Doing the same thing over and over and over again for the rest of eternity That was hell And maybe grandma would've agreed maybe not But there was one thing he remembered about hell. Something he'd heard from his mother back in the day she'd quit chemotherapy to save the money for his college "The way out is one smile away!" she'd said Yeah. The way out. He stood left his cubicle went into the bathroom took out the razor blade from his pocket and slashed from the corners of his lips all the way to the ears deep And again There it was. An avalanche of feeling. So much feeling! He dipped his fingers into the blood and drew a smiling face on the mirror One smile away! He shook with laughter and adrenaline. There was so much to feel! He laughed for a full seven minutes. And then returned to his cubicle and resumed work The others were too deep in hell to notice him or the trail he left behind
the woman smiled at him and showed her legs from beneath a white coat She was close to his face Stretched on the label of the rubbing alcohol bottle 70% alcohol He liked this woman because her smile never faded and she was always inviting "Oh, if you insist," he said and made an effort to push himself away from the moldy pillow and stand He grabbed the bottle added some water stirred held his breath and drank The words "I love you," came from his mouth enveloped in thick steam and there was a brutal growl in his guts but none of that mattered. The woman was still smiling at him, still lovely