Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
Cry`baby
a guy`s weakness
is a tough girl,
she said,
tuning her iPod
to sex type thing,
she is kryptonite
to his soul,
cupid`s arrow
to his heart,
las vegas
to his sins,
and
when he is stripped
of all that
he gets
drunk,
writes
cry`baby poetry,
jacks off
and
speaks through a voice
that tortures
the ocean
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Raising
I came too, sat upright,
and vomited over my
legs: I was shocked,
like the four other
people in the room:
‘Wow!’ I said, raising
myself and gingerly
waddled to the
bathroom as silence
shrouded me,
giving me the will
to carry on with it
all and then reappear
minutes later,
minus my jeans
and a lust
for wine.
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6 feet from sobriety
perhaps, bitches
when the sun
has risen
6 feet
from our
sobriety &the
bottle
of
whiskey
has been emptied
into
the “essential“
of norm …
like i said,
perhaps
until then,
where the fuck
is my mask?
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a man and his pizza
you visit again
6 feet apart
from my balcony
to yours
bitching again
about the pandemic
about how you need
genuine and emotional
physical contact,
bars
to pick up women in,
friends
to take road trips
and head trips with,
places
to lounge, drink coffee
and plug`in to
and how
you`re liable
to cut off your own arm
just to hear
yourself scream;
your cell pings
dominos pizza is sitting
outside your door
you light up
with giddiness
‘cause even you realized
that things
weren’t really that bad
so long as
no one fucks
with pizza
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river Lily
your
whiskey drinking
is handless,
he said
ripping my panties
off
my hips,
it`s like a river
that doesn`t
flow
straight
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one death at a time
i have
onion breath
and
a scar
that says
`wake the dead`.
no more
street vending
hot dogs,
or parkour`ing
around the world
in search of laughter,
in search of love,
when i see my world
diminishing
every hour,
one death at a time.
tell me
how do i tell
my unborn child
that i`m not ready
to die
yet?
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an Observation
i wish
i could tell you
that everything
is going to be
alright, babe,
he said
through an inhale
of
vigilant smoke
we were sitting
on a furloughed
porch stoop
on a thursday morning
dragging
on cigarettes, watching
our shallow graves
wade
in timeless
waters
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regret&sometimes loathing
he wasn`t much
for my emotions, `cause
he`d spew insults like
`your poetry
is a prison
with your verses
on death row`
and
`your insecurities
are like
temporary flowers
wilting
in white padded rooms
with black curtains
and no windows`
personally, i think
he just missed
partying with strippers
named barbie
and quoting bukowski
to his cat
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11 a.m.
he said
he awoke
with phlegm
in his throat
and
a dirty brunette
fucking with
the sid vicious`ness
of his mind
so, he said
he kicked her
off his bed
and she rolled under
and disappeared
like those non`nancy`s
his liver picks up
outside the hollywood liquor
at 11 a.m.
the same liver
that suffers daily
from binge psychosis
and
bullshit poetry
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misses Saturday night
she closed the gap
on their
relationship
at the bottom of a bourbon glass
with a 6 pack of
blue ribbon Pabst
and
a toothbrush
once belonging
to johnny cash
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