I've never seen a bathroom
so perfectly empty
before

literally just the toilet
a sink
and a shower-head. No tub
or cabin. Nothing

And a dark brown
irregular circle
captured the eye
from the very core of the room,
on the blue tiles

"That's where I burn
her things," he said

"What things?"

"You wanna see?"

"Nah, I'd rather just listen
to you talk about it."

"I burn her things, man.
Been doing so ever since she left
for the final time.
Every night I sit right there
on the toilet
and drink
and drink
and place a dress or some
stockings or
shoes, panties, whatever's
left in her wardrobe
over there on the ground
and set it on fire.
And watch it burn. And drink.
The window's open. Smoke goes
out
along with all my thoughts
of her.
When things refuse to catch fire
I pour some of her perfume
on them.
It feels good to smell it burning."

"Who was she
really?" I asked. "Wife? Girlfriend?"

"Muse," he said. "When she was
around I could do
my work. But now... all I do is
drink all day and burn her
things and watch them in the
flames. The rest of the time
I just sleep."

I found out later
that he
was talking about his
daughter

She was alive
and fine

living somewhere with
a boyfriend

She even visited from time to
time but
he could no longer see her
as a muse. Only as
a distant friend

Also the clothes he
burned
weren't even hers

he bought them himself
to feed the
delusion

and the delusion
grew too large
and eventually ate him

Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "I burn her things, man"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

He awakened at 07:30 in the
morning
and took a few seconds to stare at the
ceiling and decide why
this day too began without a
so called morning wood

Fuck the meaning of life
and whether or not we're alone
in this vast world
He wanted to know why his dick
wouldn't stand up in the morning like
it used to

Perhaps because it had nothing to reach
for
There was nothing to life
anymore
No wife
No girlfriend

...not that they ever existed in the first
place
but at least there was the hope
that one day maybe...

Now
in the late twenties
he felt like a fish outside the water
in a mud that was slowly hardening
around him

This was life

Working night shifts in a cold warehouse
and coming home in the
morning to sleep a few hours

Waking up and listening to another
video detailing the importance of
sleep

You should sleep eight hours a night
every night
Every single night
No exception!
Else you will suffer from severe
chemical imbalances in the brain and
body and will end up
horribly depressed and weak, anemic,
with heart problems that will
eventually lead to a
premature death

But he needed the job

He wasn't qualified for much
else

But hey,
cops and nurses and firefighters
worked night shifts

Well,
maybe
But their work carried so much
more meaning

He sighed as he whipped the thought
away
and stood and got a
cigarette
put it in the corner of his mouth
and lit it

He came before the window

“Look,” she said. “Maybe it’s time to just
leave everything behind
and come join me.”
She grinned at him from inside the
dirty glass of the window

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can still feel it.
The spark. You never know
when it’s gonna burst
into a flame and that
flame
might become–”

“Bullshit!” she said. “You humans are so
pathetic when it comes
to this. Listen to yourself!
Sparks and hope
and sunshine, rainbows. Stop deluding
yourself. You’re twenty-eight already and you
can’t even get it up
thanks to your chronic depression. Look
at your lame self. You’re so
lame you
came to kinda love it even.”

He exhaled smoke. “Well...”

“Well shit,” she snapped. “Listen, boy, I’m offering
you salvation here. Look at me
when I’m talking to you! Look at
my dark face, at my hard tits, look
how long this tongue is. See? I can
fish inside your guts with it.
All you gotta do
is join me. Step into my side of the world
and we can be together. Look,
I’m about to piss.
Come here. Closer. Stand with your face
up and let me shower you with this
small blessing. Give you a taste
of what’s to be
gained by joining me here. C’mon. And don’t
keep that mouth closed, dammit! Stick
your tongue out.”

He finished his cigarette
and tossed the butt
into the
moldy earth of a flowerpot

He went back to sleep
and awakened an hour later

motivated to
start cleaning his room

He started with wiping the
dirty window

Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "dirty window"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!