"Look," she said, "I no longer want smart men around me. I had enough of that species. They can all drop down and die. The last fucker who was smart was this student who made me fall a bit too in love with him and then put his career over me. Suddenly all the things I did for him mattered no more." "Oh, well," he said, "me, I'm not smart." "Nice try," she said. "but you already told me you're a writer. You write poems an' stuff." "That don't make one smart," he said. "Writers aren't scientists, you know? They're more like thugs, criminals. It's all about having a natural talent with lies, telling stories. I haven't even gone to college." "What?" she said, "Even I went to college." "Well," he said, "I didn't." "Hmm, say, you wouldn't just say that to get in my pants, would you? I feel…
she looked stunning in the fading light of the day her black dress and the boots with ridiculously thick soles and the dark makeup made her look like the queen of the cemetery but her knight didn't feel too welcome into her kingdom "Aren't you excited?" she asked "Oh, I am if you are," he said "Good. Then drink up." He drank and then she drank some more, always more than him and then the bottle was empty She placed it into his hand and pointed at a gravestone. "C'mon, I want to watch you break it against that." By this time he knew better than to disappoint his queen He walked over to the gravestone and crashed the bottle against it The queen smiled and applauded. She was very pleased with him "It's a child's grave," she said. "I can always tell." They sat there in silence and watched…
she came out of her house after the heavy rain stopped and walked up to the bridge and leaned forward over the flat rail and watched the turbid river flowing by, disappearing with infinite length below her feet The rail was wet and she wiped it with a few tissues and then got her notebook out Using a simple pencil she began drawing the river There wasn't much to it, just a couple of lines but she gave them a nice form And when she was done with the drawing she began writing Wrote a poem into the drawn river Eternal sensation of falling I hear an inhuman voice calling Feel my awareness crawling underneath. Is it angel for real or just a myth? I shall jump toward it I shall jump toward it I'm ready this world to quit She ripped the paper and crumpled it and unfolded it…
Starting the new year with a dream come true ☆ﾟ°.* ᕕ( ⌐■_■ )ᕗ
TOME Literary has agreed to feature three of my poems in their 1st issue, titled "Consumption".
Check it out HERE! for free 🙂
POEMS: he's the writer!
magic fish tank
no such thing as something for nothing
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he opened the shitty door of his shitty apartment and got in looking like shit The jacket was torn at the sleeves and the shirt underneath was torn at the chest Wet mud adorned his knees and ankles and his cheap shoes were about to fall off There was blood stuck into his thick beard and mustache and a bit around the knuckles "Happy new year!" he said as he closed the door behind him and paced from hallway to bathroom Yes, another New Year's Eve spent alone He was 46 But the punks he beat in the streets couldn't have been older than 16 The fuckers were doing what today's kids called 'pranks' and threw firecrackers at him "It's just a prank, bro!" they cried over and over again as he charged them and started swinging wildly At some point the punks had to fight back or die but…
Daydreaming as a profession 