This is not a poetry reading. This poetry reading is not sponsored by Jeff Bezos because he prefers stocks to human beings. I am not a poet. I am not a Christian. I smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol. I like the colour blue and pink and black. I paint my nails and let my hair grow. Urban pigeons disgust me, but not more than television. Stop wars and help the planet and women and homosexuals and hate nazis and Trump. I don’t have a middle name. I am a sinner and an idiot and this is not a poetry reading.

The poems I will read now were all written by me. All attempts of forgery will be met with blackmail and physical assault. 


moths are hard-wired to kill themselves

evolution has forgotten about them

attracted to light

that kills them

quick reproduction period

they would be alfa species

alongside locusts

and they’ve got faces

we’ve got faces too

and we live to die

and get energy from the sun

and we’re a mistake

and we dominated the planet

like locusts

but it’s just so much harder

to get laid


i understand


i see

yhm, i get that

but would you say you are a happy person?

i wouldn’t know one

without the other

but i do think it must be sad

to be a person that can be described with one word

even if that one word is:



life ain’t so colourful

they told me

when i got over-excited over


but they don’t see that, hell,

it is!

it’s just that

the colours are

baby-blue sky

blood-orange sunset

deep ultramarine sea

light-green leaves when the beams go through

but also

greenish-brown diarrhea of an infant

black dirt on a soldier’s face

grey mid-autumn clouds

pale creamy of a stillborn

bleaking crimson of cigarette burns on skin

life abounds in all colours

we only get them in

different proportions

there are no better or worse

no good or evil

duality isn’t real

but still i hope

that i will see

the beautiful ones

most of the times


one for the road

and let’s hit it

the car window was open

cold wind on my face

he dropped me off

shortly after 6 a.m.

i lay in bed

listening to music

i didn’t want it to stop at all

i wanted to feel the beat

walk a bit

do something

three hours in bed i was

with my eyes closed

but my head open and

running around

straight lines wound me up

one for the road

wasn’t a good idea

after all

i used to feel bad about it

not sleeping

not eating

not doing too much

these thoughts still come

i notice them


and let them go

everything’s for people

my dad would say

and i’m a person

so i’ll just lay

could’ve been worse

at least it was fun

from time to time

now for weeks i’m done

a break for kicks of other things

booze and nicotine.

leave the devil’s powder

let it rot in somebody else’s head


in my bed

when everybody else sleeps

in the house

i lay

and listen

to myself

the voices

and other sounds

twice i thought

that somebody was in the house

an alien

unknown person

lurking to murder

and to steal

and then run away

i was still


waiting for the bastard to come and get me

i imagined even

fighting him

one of us would come

dead or alive

he never came though

and i’m still alive

so i guess

i won

This was not a poetry reading and you have just been robbed of $50 from your mother’s bank account. Donate to a local charity and skip breakfast. Have a great day, please don’t call me. I know where you live.

Published by Dawid Tysowski


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