BlackDayz

Author: M.Hatter

  • Girl with Dirty Feet

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    Me and my girl,the girl with dirty feet, We used to pass the days by sitting on the porch,the evening wind satisfying and warm.   She draped her legs over my lapas waves of orange and purplewashed over us,cleansing us fromthe hard day.   Not a sound could be heard, except the softsnores from our…

  • In the Yellow Maverick

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    Out on the open road,a young boy, should’ve been in school,instead, a passenger,riding down highways from one trouble spot to the next. We always left just in time,before shit hit the fan,before we made long-lasting friends,before report cards arrived,before we got comfortable,before we called it home,before we felt ashamed of who we were. We hit…

  • Road Rage Romance

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    Out on the highway,crossing the great American landscape,I had a girl with me, hungry and eager. Pulled in, took a piss, had a cig,got her some food. Back on the road, she excitedly opened the bag.“Where’s your food?” she asked.“I’m not hungry,” I said. Truth is, I wasn’t. “Well, then I’m not hungry…” she said,…

  • Joe

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    Joe was a boy of 12, big for his age,they sure did make boys tough back then. His head was as large as a basketball,greasy hair parted on the left,swooping down, covering one eye.A scar on his lip made him look meanand deranged. Oh yeah, the jury was split on old Joe,right down the middle.Half…

  • Memory

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    In a dark, smoky corner of a forgotten bar, Where the neon lights flicker like dying stars, I sit alone, with a drink in hand, A man whose life never went as planned. My fingers trace the rim of the glass, Each scratch a memory of a love that didn’t last, The stale air heavy…

  • Echoes of Hiraizumi

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    In the heart of Japan, Hiraizumi stood as a testament to time, its temples and gardens whispering tales of samurai valor and ancient rituals. Rie’s ancestral home, a sprawling traditional mansion, was nestled on the outskirts. This house, with its paper-thin walls and wooden corridors, held a secret: a forbidden song that could unlock the…

  • Tragic

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    The truth, so bitter,Provokes nausea, churnsIn your gut, a scenarioThat could have been bypassed. Vitality, entirely squandered,Did you presumeI’d remain in the dark? Those who place their trust,Find their beliefShattered by thoseUnfit for faith. Falsehoods and manipulationsOf reality have morphedInto the contemporarySermons, cloaking theGenuine truth. Furious, you seekThe culprits, andThey smirk backRight into your eyes.…

  • My son, I love you

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    A tale to tell of the man unknown, Lost to the world, to hardship thrown, In the veiled market of scant regard, In the shadow cast by life so hard. An orb of light, his heart’s sole crown, A son, his life’s profoundest town. In the echoes of giggles, the patter of feet, He finds…

  • Longing

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    In the quiet of his solitude, beneath the sky so wide, An old man sits and thinks of youth, of love he’d cast aside. Back to a time when he was young, in the heart of Chicago’s glow, Working at the local Denny’s, where life seemed to move slow. Her name was Sherri, fiery and…

  • Broken

    —

    by

    M.Hatter
    in

    I am fundamentally broken In the hush of a thousand midnights, Underneath the star-pricked cloak, I confess to the silent cosmos, “I am fundamentally broken.” In the mirror of my soul’s reflection, There are cracks too deep to mend, A mosaic of shattered memories, A tale too fractured to end. In the orchestra of existence,…