My mother told me she was from the past. She was schizophrenic. It’s a brain disorder. Makes you see, and hear things that aren’t really there. Most people have heard about it.
Category: Dark Poetry (Page 2 of 2)
I enjoy watching the neighbors.
I watch them outside, through the window.
I think the slimmer is very attractive. They have lived here for a year and I’ve watched them both in that time. The slimmer one has red hair and a strong jawline. Sometimes his hair is more red than now—sometimes it has lighter hues of blonde. Sometimes he keeps it short. Sometimes he keeps it long.
This week we played ‘Guess How Many Human Teeth’ and I get to keep the jar, ’cause I’m the guy that won.
Okay, I’m awake—now where the fuck am I?
We’ve all felt it. Maybe you’d gone to sleep, overtired, and found yourself waking in the living room on the couch. Maybe, you’re like my sister. She’s a sleepwalker. She once somnambulated her naked ass right out of the front door of her apartment, a door which locked automatically behind her—so of course she panicked and pounded to wake her fiancé up so he could let her in. The man that answered was not her fiancé. She knew him. He didn’t live on her floor. Unbeknownst to her she’d ridden the elevator too. Me, I’d had a lot to drink last night which accounted for my disorientation…oh, and Richie. All the weird shit is always fuckin something to do with Richie.
Where up is down and dark is day, and all the nightmares come to play.