Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
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!
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the woman with the dirty eyes, they called her as she always beheld people like they were but dust in her eyes Her face would make that expression of pure disgust one feels while passing a homeless drunk in the streets. Fallen and stained with piss and feces and blood People weren't worthy to be held in her eyes but the people were everywhere she looked So she looked less into the world and more into her papers where she drew the few things she saw Every human being was drawn with hair covering their eyes and every animal with human eyes, clean eyes she'd been drawing all her life and now more than ever before She had a new dog now. One so meek and so obedient that it allowed her to stretch open its eyes and lick them with her tongue "There is much inspiration to be tasted…
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the pains in his lower back
were killing him
“Fuck,” he said, “that’s what I get for
not investing into
a decent chair.” He reached into
his pack and took
out another cigarette. “But I gotta smoke
to stay alive.
What a shitty life.”
He typed for another 36 minutes
and then
his friend, the fly, came to rest on his
knuckles. He blew smoke
on it. Laughed
The fly had gotten inside a while
ago. It was a big one, very
curious, ever exploring. And now trapped
He never opened the damned windows
or the door
Sat there in his smoke
and rancid smells. Said they helped with
inspiration for writing. Said
no good writing ever came out
of a healthy mind
He leaned back in his broken chair
watched the fly circle around
the naked light bulb in the ceiling
shook his fist at it…
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drinking alone at night with the moon the world is finally beautiful he fills another glass and toasts with the window pane "Here's to normalizing being awake at night and sleeping during the day! Cheers!" the moon smiles back in agreement
there was no gentleness in mother's touch as she seized him by the shoulder and stood him down "Never disturb your grandfather again," she told him Never disturb a man who is thinking about death He had learned the lesson so well that he started the practice himself And he wasn't even old Death was fascinating to think about it was the topic of the wise while the ignorant and foolish avoided it and associated it with fear Death is the opposite of a curse It is a gift and the wisest of all is he who understands that when it comes to gifts giving is more important than receiving Give freely give abundantly give the supreme gift
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His child was an infant
who couldn’t
possibly consent to having
his father
use him like a therapy pet
But he did anyway
He wore his military uniform
as he held the kid in
his arms
and rocked him
and spoke to him
saying, “I have done it. I’ve killed
children just like you
in the war zone. Children with and
without parents. I shot them,
ran them over with the tank, launched
missiles at their homes
And I was trained to believe I was doing them
a big service. For death
was preferable to a life like theirs. And besides,
I only did my job, I followed
orders. I never watched their
eyes when I did all those things
but their eyes were watching mine, I know.
And I’ll never forget. So is it
fair that I should
return to my safe home
and my lovely…
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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…
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but hell was just a floor below
in the living room
There was a blazing fire
in the fireplace
and there were plenty of screams
coming from mother and father
They argued again
And from upstairs, locked in her
dim room, she knew that
the gnashing of teeth and the shattering
of glass would not be late
in echoing through the walls
They always liked to break glasses
and bottles in the fireplace
while arguing
The fireplace was full of
sparkling shards now
She still remembered the afternoon
her little cousin came to
visit with aunt and uncle and not knowing
any better he tried to pick
the sparkling treasure from the
cold ashes of the fireplace
and cut himself pretty
bad
But who knows,
perhaps there really was a treasure in
that fireplace
Whenever mom and dad left the house
she would stand before the
cold…
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the last time they saw him happy was when he told them about that weird dream he had in which wine poured from the tap in his kitchen and that was it he had nothing else in life to be happy about They didn’t need to ask his profession Somehow they all knew he was a poet
there's been a collection of rather dark thoughts lately and he was studying it from the comfort of his bed The other day he found a good pillow in the dumpster and used it to cover the spot on the mattress where the rusty springs emerged Now the bed was fine again good enough for daydreaming After you've tried out all herbs and powders all that's left are the dreams the daydreams and the nightdreams and the nightmares and the daymares On another day spent dumpster diving he'd found a plastic bag with about six severed hands They were still cold some mafia shit was going on in the city He took them home and tried to cook them hoping to obtain at least some bits of meat He had no pan and of course no oil so he impaled them with iron rods at the writs and placed them…
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Daydreaming as a profession 