she looks up at me with
eyes hidden, almost locked,
behind
thick bars of hair
that reaches all the way to
her small nose
Hair discolored like
dry straw,
second in paleness only
to her ghostly face
She doesn’t stare too much
because there
are other things to see
in the room
She moves
on. Not
knowing that I also stared
at her. Into her soul
I’ve spotted an unquenched
cry there
The easiest to
recognize is the cry of loss
and that’s what I saw there
paired with
the cry of want
She wants to get away
from here
Far, far away. She wants to go
and never stop. Wants
to travel into
forever
and I’d like to
take her
there
But alas,
I am stuck here onto
this wall
frozen in time
I'm a static
painting
And my cold
words
void of any vibration
will never reach her
I have to make my peace
with it. Yeah, some
people just don’t read
poetry. And even if
they do, what are the chances
they’d read mine?
Wow, what a fool I can be at times
But, well, at least
I have my dreams
and myself to laugh at
You don’t need much else
in eternity
Image Source: Snappa “I tried to hire my mentally ill brother,” he said. “I gave him a knife. He’s forbidden to touch them but I gave him one anyways and told him to use it on me. That was my strategy for productive writing. My brother would stand by the door and I told him […]
She was sucking on a red lollipop quite loudly and would constantly take it out of her mouth to stir her whiskey with it She wore round sunglasses a crimson bandanna her hair in thin dreads and all her shirts were sleeveless She took the lollipop out one more time and pointed it at him across the table “You want some?” she asked “Um, no thanks. I, uh, stay away from sweets.” She dipped the lollipop back into the glass and stirred a bit then put it back in her mouth “Good for you. I’m not too fond of these either. Just use ’em to help me break the smoking habit. It’s been working lately.” She picked up the glass and took a sip of the lollipop-flavored whiskey “Anyway, like I said, I brought you to my place to read your tarot cards.” She pulled the deck out from under…
“The angriest I ever got,” she said, “Was with an ex-boyfriend, of course. I just wanted him to die. But like, not casual wanting him to die. Really, really wishing with all my might that he’d drop dead. I felt I couldn’t go on living as long as I knew he was alive. I had to do something about it. I was literally about to explode. So, to prevent that, I got dressed and despite the rain and all I went straight to the nearest pet shop. Bought me a hamster. And with a red marker, I wrote my boyfriend’s name on its back. And then slammed that hamster against the wall 134 times. For the 134 hours we’d been together. I calmed down after that. But, you know, I don’t like talking about myself all that much. Tell me about yourself. Also, what should we get from the menu?…
the old boy
wakes up three hours ahead of
the world that lives in concrete buildings
and one hour ahead of the
competition
and emerges from his damp tent
looks around the park
looks at the sky
Overcast
He stretches a bit and scratches his
head
and walks over to the fountain
and has a drink
collects some mint leaves
chews on them
spits
and rinses his mouth
The work clothes are already on him
Boots
two pairs of socks
cotton and wool
faded jeans
a shirt
a sweater
and coat over them
mittens
and a cap that covers his ears as well
It's now time to set about
collecting tin cans around the neighborhood
to make just enough for
a meal and a half
and maybe a few cigarettes sold
individually
It's been
enough years for all this to become
routine
When you don't know of any better you
don't expect any better
And now he only did this to have just enough
energy and life force to
visit the public library and
read heart warming poems
you ever just sit or lay on your bed and stare at the ceiling and wonder if you’ve ever eaten meat from an animal that was the offspring of another animal you’ve eaten? I’ve once read an article about the food industry’s secret glue that can paste together the meat belonging from many animals and makes it look like it’s from a single one thus you could eat beef thinking that it’s from a cow when in fact it’s from nine different cows of nine different ages and breeds a friend of mine declared herself vegan after she sliced a steak and found gray slimy puss oozing from it. The blade struck a cyst “I’m a vegan forever from now on!” she screamed And I said, “I’m a writer.” “What?” she said. “What’s that have to do with what I said?” “I’m a writer,” I repeated. “Meaning I have to…
young people, they think nobody has the same thoughts as them they take great pride in some made up originality as if really nobody ever thought up scenarios of themselves descending some rope from some helicopter and dropping in the middle of enemy forces and starting to shoot around, all movie like ‘an shit and killing all the bad guys while not taking one bullet One man army or there’s those other thoughts of being simply the greatest at some sport and being admired and envied for it also, the thoughts of sex in all its forms the thoughts of mindless violence of saving the day of being somewhere else and doing something else all kinds of thoughts and all the minds who think them label them as original but they’re not original they’re every young person’s thoughts and me, I also have thoughts I consider original I think of…
Daydreaming as a profession 