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Short Story / Horror
Poem / Poetry
Poem / True Confessions
Me at age 48. I'm currently 31. I've aged backward.
Who would bother me if I fancy a drag? I chuckled to myself from that meaningless question, and pulled out my black-wood pipe. Tapped the remenant of used tobacco from the cup, and fish inside my pocket for a fresh bag. In went the tobacco, I brought the pipe to my lips and light it with my zippo. Puff-Puff I inhaled the rich smoke, and let it out with a longing breath. The fog hits my brain, and I felt the pleasure of the carcinogen in my nerves. Sweet, and savory.
"If Dreams were an escape from Realism, then sir, I say "Dream
"Sometime, no matter how hard you try; Dreams are just that. They fade away, when you awake."
"But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
"I used to write poems, but I got tired of my own self-loathing."
If one was to count backward, I'm 69 years young under a century old. I hail from Philadelphia, where I've spent 3/4th of my existence. I've been writing for 1/3 of that 3/4th years, of that 69 years under a century old. As you can tell, I also believed I am a Mathmetician. Beside my outer-worldly sense of humor, I enjoyed reading. I get my inspirations from the classics of Edgar Allen Poe, HG Wells, HP Lovecraft, & Robert E. Howard. For Horror, I've tried to incorporate Poe & a bit of Lovecraft into my stories. Poe for its dark gothic vibe, and Lovecraft for its outer-wordly creatures/imagry. I used to write Poetry but haven't since. Only when I'm down and in a slightly brooding mood would I be able to come up with something colorful!
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