Many thanks to Gobblers by Masticadores for featuring my poem, "Leave them alone and enjoy your own solitude"!
Thank you!
Leave them alone and enjoy your own solitude
fade away
FADE AWAY
Why was there a poster in his room
that said FADE AWAY?
It’s been around
since forever
now that he thought about it
And until today
there was no reason
to even think about it
Life was happening fast
It happened so fast
that it’s been 52 years
since the day he was born
Today there was nothing left to do
but observe the poster
that said FADE AWAY
And there was nothing else to do
not because he’d done it all
but because he hadn’t done shit
52 years and nothing done
Nothing worthwhile anyway
But values change, man
Oh, how they change
One day you’re young
thinking failure and shame
and ridicule are what suck
Well, you’re not wrong
But
Later when you’re old
you realize nothing sucks more
than never risking these things
when you were young
Now this
So now you either tell yourself
that it is never too late to be
what you might’ve been
Or you sit alone
in your silent room
with no wife
and no kids
no pets
and a pension
that comes once a month
And slowly blink your eyes
at your poster that says
FADE AWAY
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Thank you!
the female assassin
the ashtray was looking more
and more
like a sick hedgehog
and her yellowed fingers
added one more quill to it
she sat back in her chair
work wasn't in the best of stages lately and
her office looked like a junkie's
trailer. You could
scrape the nicotine
off the walls. In fact, she
would get nicotine under her nails if she
just scratched her skin
anywhere
But otherwise she was
a beauty
and that was a problem. Beautiful
women have the worst
luck in marriages
The husband left and the two girls went
with him
They were sick and tired of her
habit to consume more cigarette smoke than
oxygen
And drinking was also a problem
though not nearly
as big
The worst drinking has ever done to her
was to make her lose
the driving license which she never
bothered to take back
The real problem was,
as always,
a lack of money. If the damn phone didn't
ring soon
she would have to kill someone
for a pack of cigarettes
Assuming she could still
kill
someone with her body rotting from the
inside. She was fine with
breast cancer
but now lung cancer joined too
and it was by far nastier
Still
that was all right
It doesn't take a healthy body to pull
a trigger
And speaking of triggers
She opened a drawer in her desk
took out the gun
studied it
Not loaded
She browsed through the drawer
Only one bullet left. One single bullet.
These things cost money
too
Damn it
But it's like they said back in
the mercenary camp
The last bullet is always preserved to be
used on the self
She loaded the bullet into the
gun
A life lived well is one
lived without regrets and without
ever asking for mercy
or feeling sorry for yourself
At 39
she had that. There was nothing
else to be taken
away from it
She put the gun to her
temple
Smiled
"Except for a final smoke."
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Check out my new book filled with dark poetry -- REALITY CHECK
night shifts at the gas station by Bogdan Dragos
(╹ꇴ◠) Visit Gobblers/Masticadores and find more writings you can enjoy!
oh, how silly were all those idiots who entered the gas station and approached her cash register complaining about the rain outside 'Just because you think that the rain sucks doesn't make it a universal truth, asshole,' she would've told the last one if she could But as it was she just nodded and forced a lame smile and took the customer's money The gas station was alright most of the time. All that was not alright were the customers Nothing like being locked behind a counter and forced to smile and greet people while having to listen to their stories old ladies and families with kids and truckers and the occasional homeless who stumbles in drunk The worst of all were those who engaged in casual conversation That was the bane of her existence most of ‘em went like: "Nice ring you got there in your eyebrow, didn't it…
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an old instrument with rusty strings
he sits alone in the darkness on a wooden chair The walls surrounding him have no mirrors and the windows are covered by the thickest blinds He doesn’t want to see his old age and the decay that already started consuming his body In his mind he’s still young, still in his early twenties still dreaming He’s listening to music He’s playing the music and it exhausts him The music comes from within An instrument with strings His growling guts He lubricates them with more beer
Daydreaming as a profession 