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 upright in a barrel he lit up He sat back watching them smelling them Higher on hunger than on the herbs he'd smoked And then he'd realized that they were women's hands and fantasized about them springing to life and crawling over him and doing things to him It gave him a hard on or perhaps the illusion of one but regardless that was a fun night The closest he came to having females over. Some who cooked and fed him after the fun time He'll remember that night for the rest of his life
Reblogueó esto en Daydreaming as a profession.
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F**K! How come I liked this poem?
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I also liked writing it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
There’s something about weird fantasy that’s just so appealing :))
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wildly fantastically weird 🤗🤣
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Fever dream poetry is my favorite ฅ(≈●ܫ●≈)
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This is definitely a CRAZY CRAZY one. It’s unimaginable and that’s why it’s so good. Dark and eerie with a side of fingers. 🙂
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Don’t forget the ketchup :))
(╹ꇴ◠) 🩸
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