Sad Lover Boy

By Kros Dyck

Sad Lover Boy is my first literary child. I think I've birthed some good words that are interesting to read. This is a largely personal poetry book. I think the juxtaposition throughout this book is fun, one minute you might be reading a serious passage about my depressive view of the state of the world, then the next you're reading a weird poem I sent a girl that's a conversation between a duck and a pigeon, but there's meaning and thought behind both.
In essence, these are poems from someone who's spending their 20s in the 2020s. If you're older than me this might provide interesting insights, if you're the same age enjoy the zoomer doomer humour, if you're younger probably don't read this there's bad words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781543498134

Kros Dyck

Kros Dyck is a New Media and General Management student at the University of Lethbridge, and is slated to graduate 2022. He is trying to survive and thrive in this messed up world handed to him by previous generations. When he's not writing flirty poetry for girls on tinder he waits anxiously for the world to end via climate change. Despite being unable to find a job, form and maintain meaningful relationships, or escape the crazy oil obsessed backwater province he lives in, he's managed to survive somehow. Kros dreams that one day he'll be able to save the world from the climate crisis by generating funds using his entrepreneurial skills, and bring rapid change to many societal institutions.

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Kros Dyck.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/14/2021

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

832659

CONTENTS

It’s Time (August 29, 2020)

Pipe and Typewriter

Let me tell you about this journey I’m on

A’s Ask

An Empty Night

Love Like Shakespeare

It’s 3 a.m. January 1, 2021

Untitled

I Don’t Know

Something Poetic

Pondering June

Drool

The Time to Look Back

If It Were Only Me

C

Dreams of Monday Morning

Around the Dinner Table

Staying Warm

Time’s Cruel Trick

Hold This

Nose (or the unintended consequences of letting my thoughts roll on)

The Spark in My Eye

Kookoo

The Girl I Prayed For

Cute but Naughty

The Girl I Think About When I Can’t Sleep

Where’s the One

To Fill a Void

At the Top I See Dragons

The Metaphor

Relieving Boredom

I Want

A poet’s pick-up line in free form

Bugs

A New Place to Sit

Goddess

Writing

Obsessive Man Whore

A New Face in a New Place

The Wall of Ice

Great Debate

My Gamble

Just an Outside Perspective

For Those Far from Me

Dancer

How I Hope It Goes

Warden’s Wishes

Oui

Untitled

I Want to Fall in Love

Ra

Long-Haired Rocker Boy

The Night Before the Day

On the Lake Fallen Log

Day Dreaming

The Broken Wrist Beauty

When the Sun Comes Up

Manic Depression

To Each Moment

A Toast for the Ice Queen

A Roast for the Ice Queen

Far Above

Ghost

T Talk

Belittled

Clogged Pipes

A Moth to a Flame

H

Aa

Addictions

To the Girl Who Complimented My Face

22

Most of the Time

Nightmare

For that Fairy

Flirty Poetry?

Stuff and Things

Changing Right

A Message for My Friend

It’s Beautiful

Not Here

Not Doing Too Good

Brothers

Nonsense

Like a

A Poem in a Park

Close Walls

Battlefield

Thinkers

Stars

Savages

Kids with Phones

Something

Tomorrow Yesterday or in Between

A Shadow

Green-Haired Girl

Whoop-up Drive

The Old-School Fool

Sultry

What a Night

The Pigeon and the Duck

Don’t Judge

Man of Thought

Want me?

Weathering Blue

Headlights

Walking in Old Shoes

Removing Negativity

Supposedly

Wicked Smile

Hold the Pose

At Every Turn

Falling Looks Graceful

Numbnessness

The Other Side of 4:00 AM

Growing Younger

Trade’s Girl

What Are you Looking For?

Self-portrait in the style of Bukowski

The Boy with the Black Balloon

My Morbid Curiosity

The Wild Cat in a Box

Closing the Well

The Small-Town Registry Office

Don’t Feel Like Satan

The McDonald’s Playpen

Cold hands warm heart and the clock

Cold Hands Warm Heart

Embers

Septum

Shadow Boxed

The Broken Shuttered Window

Filling a day

My First

The Mystic Mouse

Running in the hallway

Another Asshole’s Apology

I Was Just A Crumb

To Learn

Hey

The Void Is Not a Void

One for My Mom

Everything Happens for a Reason

The view from the mountain side

Untitled

Untitled

March 16, 2020

Bonjour

Hi. Thanks for picking this book up. If you promise not to put me down, I promise to give you some truths. My name is Kros, and I’m exactly like you. My atoms bounce like your atoms, you understand. I’ve lived a pretty regular life, perfectly unique. And like all life, filled with clichés. Filled in these pages are my little offerings; my thoughts transposed into a box, and then transferred to another box. I know I’m not right about everything, so I hope you find my subjective view of the chaos of life interesting. And I hope you know that by reading this, you’ve been a factor in making another human’s life better. So I want to thank you. Thanks for reading my book. I sincerely hope I can, at the very least, alleviate some of the mundanity of life.

Au revoir.

IT’S TIME (AUGUST 29, 2020)

It’s time to put down the training wheels

Let’s get this on track

It’s time I cross these waters

And write something real

A script

A conversation

A book

A play

Just start small

And build it up

Layer by layer

Piece by piece

And don’t be afraid

To just push it forward

PIPE AND TYPEWRITER

I’m in a house

Written about

By another poet

I’m sat

In front of a small desk

With a black and tarnished gold

Typewriter

It clicks and clacks

Just like you’d hope it would

In my mouth the pipe bobs

As I mindlessly whisper

The words I write

Pulling and pausing in thought

pipe_and_typewriter1.jpg

I stare wistfully

Onto the suburban street

A place

I’ve been before

And

Slept on the floor

A lady.

She comes from behind

Kisses my cheek

And leaves a cup of tea in my hand

There’s a tremble

A cat sits in the sunlight

A yard to my right

And disappears

Another tremble

And dust falls from the ceiling

But there is no roof

No second floor

I put the tea down

I look away and type

I am handed another cup of tea

I put my hand in the tea

I piss my pants

I peal the skin from my face

I go to the door

And it’s locked

I turn around

See the body of a comely lady

And out from the neck

A gnarled tendril of flesh rot

The pain in my chest is back

With every breath

I feel my stomach churn

And I hear a siren’s song in my ear

I rush to my typewriter

And type while slime drools onto my shoulder

Don’t get lost in the maze

Don’t take pills