Weird poetry by not me

Found this on a swedish site and took the liberty to translate it to english. This is interesting stuff. The writing style indicates someone being in a really bad way, but the use of weird punctuation and symbols is pretty structured, so it’s hard to determine the actual mindset of the writer. Link to original content:



My arms regrow flesh slow [bone bone limbed elbows and kneecaps under glass _ skin] /
My stomach’s sphere is gone. it went somewhere (I-don’t-know-where) and _ my bellow’s hollow /
I-I do not ruminesce forget [-] [-] [-] /

Home from wednesday work I stare at red dance sky when (my) liquid brain _ creeks down (my) throat /

I wander streets in night [illuminated by streetlight gasses] (as masses chant and dance and fucking fuck ‘round tourhces lit) /
At home in bed I try to sleep _ (waken dreams of b-bed_ swallow——and me immobilized by the night mare on my chest /
I am not scared /

Woke to silent night pink penis schorch _ drives me up by five /
The toilet hums camera eyes thorugh frosted glass /
Claw marks on toilet seat _ I pee my kidneys away {I pee my body clean} /

At times I lay half-awake as crumbling words _ crumble ‘round me /
I-I’ll not remember today tomorrow

By Unknown.


There’s a lot of strange stuff on the internet. It’s sometimes interesting to ponder, did the amount of weird shit increase when the internet became a thing (since people now could share whatever they wanted to millions of people, without having to interact face to face with anyone), or did the internet just make all the weird shit more accessible?

It’s also extremely haunting how the writer described the sensation of their brain running down their throat. I know it’s a phenomenon and all, but still… I guess it hasn’t dawned on me that I’m not the only one who experience the same fear, or physical sensation, or whatever it is.



The Roe and the Fireflies

It might be worth mentioning that I’ve been writing fiction for a while now, and I write quite frequently, with the stoicism of someone who now they’ll never be great but says, “Fuck it!” and writes anyway.

I posted a short story to a reddit subforum just now, based on weird dreams, ghost stories and being on prescriptive drugs. Most of the story is fiction. Alina, for example, is a purely fictional character. But I do find my sister by the living room window, just staring out, occasionally.