farewell to a white rose
atop a mountain, overlooking
the sea that was always dreamt but
you sit, finally at
peace. a single, white
rose, metaphor to innocence
lost too soon, the reminder of who
you were and what you left
behind. black rain falls day and night, it’s
freezing and the wind rattles the houses; nature
gone wild and brown leaves fly all about.
below, in the rocky shore, the waves crush
violently onto the rocks, slowly devouring them.
above, in the grey sky, seagulls struggle to remain
afloat, battling the winds to satisfy
their hunger. you are
a passive observer of everything, in
death just like in life. watching
observing, breathing in the essence of the world while
trapped in a confined space, the
coffin of your mind and imagination,
living and experiencing via strange eyes,
speaking with lips that weren’t yours.
one single self you never possessed,
always victim of countless voices;
every time, a different person,
another demon had gained control.
it’s all over now, the demons
won and lost their precious vessel. alone at
the top of the world, amidst the violent storm and the black,
poisonous rain you lie idly, unaffected by
sorrow and pain, finally at peace. your mind can
breathe at ease, for once. farewell, the world was
never fair, never gave you a chance
the voices are silenced, the visions have ceased; in the
darkness, I know you shall find inspiration, as you
always desired eternal nothingness over
a short life of pointlessness. tears were
shed, wails were heard, the pain
of separation we carry. only in your potential elation we
find consolation, while the sky has been crying
for over a fortnight.
she used to be my whiskey girl,
always downing Wild Turkey 101 and even after ten drinks
she’d walk straight, hardly showing the effects of the elixir.
Gina would drink anything under the sun, as long
as it was in abundance. I fixed her margaritas and she loved
how I coated the glass with blow.
she was the only one eagerly swilling my hangover cures,
she had no trouble outdrinking me even when she had
to go to work and I stayed inside, draining Four Roses
and waging war on the page.
I haven’t seen her in quite a while; I moved away, to a
different country altogether,
I still miss her smile—nothing better to kick hangover’s ass
than her full, luscious lips and hypnotizing hazel eyes.
I’m guessing she’s still dancing in that underground joint,
making money out of sexless, hopeless men.
my third gin and tonic of the day is dedicated to her. and when
I crack Wild Turkey, in an attempt to crank shit up,
I’ll dedicate the first couple of glasses to her.
afterwards, it’ll become a no holds barred match where
no one will be safe.
George Gad Economou holds a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science and resides in Athens, Greece, doing freelance work whenever he can while searching for a new place to go. His novella, Letters to S., was published in Storylandia Issue 30 and his short stories and poems have appeared in literary magazines, such as Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Chamber Magazine, The Edge of Humanity Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine. His first poetry collection, Bourbon Bottles and Broken Beds, was published by Adelaide Books in 2021.