Goddammit, they were looking at a doctor He came into the casino in a suit, the same suit every day and night dark gray shiny with grease around the elbows and lower back smelly patched up in places
he kinda forgot what it was like to be sober
and lately he kinda forgot what it was like to win at the slot machines
he forgot how to perform surgery how to diagnose a patient
forgot what the company of a woman felt like
forgot what love was
he was a machine that consumed cheap but strong alcohol Rubbing alcohol filtered through bread That stuff was 70% alcohol his liver knew it
"Ah, pleaseeee, for the love of God, don't make me work with this stuff again," he would scream while playing at the slot machine
and the bouncer would walk up to him and say, "Hey…
he would start whistling Very random and very loud even at night in bed and stopping him was very much a gamble The caterpillar-like stitches on his wife’s arm were a testimony to that He’s never been the same since his head injury Poor fellow just had the terrible, terrible luck to walk underneath an overpass while some teenagers were throwing big rocks for fun Now he kept calling the emergency number and crying that his wife had gone missing when she’d be just in the other room or at work The neighbors filed noise complaints because of his nightly whistling and apparently he no longer knew how to use the toilet paper. He always smelled and it was worse when he climbed in bed besides his wife It was hell and hell broke people and tonight again he started whistling and woke her up and as…
Issue 1 of “Suburban Witchcraft Magazine” is now live!
((๑´ᗜ`) isn't the cover absolutely stunning? Wait till you see the rest of the artwork inside!)
And I have the honor to be featured in it with a poem titled "she speaks the language of blood".
Give it a read HERE!
( ✪ワ✪)ノ Thank you very much!
Poem written in my original language (Romanian).
TRANSLATION:
"Um... it doesn't rhyme,"
she said
I looked at her.
"You kidding?"
And then she shook her head.
"No, look, this poem
really has no rhymes
at all
You sure it's the right file?"
"Let me see."
She handed me her phone
and I looked at the text
on the screen, smirked, turned off
the phone and kissed her
"You are truly the cutest," I said. "But,
you see, not all poems
must have rhymes."
"Sure they do. Then why d' you write
them? And why should the
world bother to read them?"
"Good question. Maybe I'll find
out one day..."
What Da Cover Says: Horror Sleaze Trash proudly presents the poems of Bogdan Dragos.
What I Says: I have followed Dragos on WordPress for many years now and he has entertained me all that time with some bloody good poems, you are guaranteed to get something dark and fucked-up that will give ya a chuckle….unless it’s just me giggling.
Horror Sleaze Trash presents this mighty fine collection from Dragos, it contains some of his most twisted material, I love how again and again he is able to surprise me with how the poem ends. In my opinion the tone of a poetry collection is always set by the first one, it has to be strong and it needs to get some kind of rise from you or you ain’t gonna enjoy what’s next, Dragos starts us off with “some things can never be put back together” a brilliant start, messed…
these days a lot of
people call
themselves
empaths
They claim to be able
to feel what
other people
are feeling
and suffer with them
"I cheated on my boyfriend
with his brother," some
girl said,
“and being the empath
that I am
I started crying along
with him when he
found out. It's hard
being such
an empath."
And there was
the guy
who got into a bar
brawl and
knocked another guy's
teeth out
and held a hand to his
own mouth and made
pain noises
I guess he
was an empath too
If you have a
social media account
and don't describe yourself
as an empath
people will think you're some
kind of monster,
a psychopath, they'll compare
you with Hitler
Yeah, it's a good
reason not
to use social media
If you actually
needed another
Daydreaming as a profession 