Friday, July 14, 2017


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Neme Quitte Pas 

I can see Kids with fuck all pushing a shopping trolleys like go carts, 30 cent Icy poles on a hot summers day and in all these times it all got to much for me. I tell her Babe; I’m going to do A ten day Meditation retreat, do you wanna come” She says, “What do you have to do?” I say “We will Meditate in a temple for ten days, dude” Well, What about the cat Fuck that, I’m not doing That You can find God at home now stop being so selfish and water the garden And sometimes at night, or early in the morning we rub our feet together an I don’t tell her because we all need secures but in them moments I feel like a god, and the art doesn’t matter, and money dose t matter. The only thing that is real is her feet on mine, and her head on the pillow and the very thought, that she will always be my friend and my lover forever; and the thought of you not being around makes me think about watching cartoons as a kid in front of the heater; I know that doesn’t make too much sense but something so warm, something so perfectly perfect that could leave my life and I would miss out on its comfort for a second time makes me loose all my forgiveness in god and the world that was smart enough to make you, Perfect enough to house you and then take you away. My love, My D’Arne. Thank you for putting up with me and letting me experience at least some thing really sweet. © Ben John Smith   

Ben John Smith is a poet from Australia. He is also the editor in chief of Horror Sleaze Trash. 


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