I catch myself wanting
to break this bottle
over the teeth
of the fence directly left -
to sit and cry
a little,
but I’d just go back in
and buy another.
Also, I gave up crying
for lent,
permanently.
Hit one on the first floor,
because my muscle memory
says, “down.”
Have I really become so afraid
of intimacy that I’d sabotage
anything resembling
just so I could go get let
down.
How that bell rings
around my head:
You have it in you to die,
coward,
but not to live.
You’re lucky my guilt
outweighs my disgust.
Another stop,
a diversion,
another roadside
*,
the last great, big,
ball of barbed wire.
*attraction.
On the way
to your comfort zone:
*deep sigh* and
streeeetch -
going;
what grew inside you,
found you
missing.
Nah that’s cool,
shrugging lazily
and only half joking.
Several seconds pass,
many long-winded
metaphors, and
eight god damn
whiskey sours later....
Like eating grapes
off the vine. It
tastes less enjoyable,
but overwhelmingly
natural.
Like a coke dealer on
a netflix binge:
three days with no sale,
in love with the 80’s,
pass the ice.
I spent that time
listening
for someone to yell,
“Stop!”
Dispassionately poised
for an assault on
my character
to my back
and everything else
to my face.
Nothing happened,
but dammit beg,
for the question you
already know:
the fleeing happiness,
asking instead
for accomplishment
and society’s benefit.
With black tendrils
she sways,
down her forehead
and brushed back
with toned, olive polish.
Her clothes fall freely
with her legs,
her breasts,
her feet bare
when she can
help it.
Subtly, into back
she fades -
no,
like the backdrop
walks with her.
Now and then?
More like:
all the time,
everywhere,
all at once.
That sounds like
the most British thing
I've heard.
The only thing,
honest,
and you should be
honest.
Tell me how to get
there
and I swear to you,
by sould,
by blood,
by iron,
we leave.
Well, did you find
a bowl or not?
Have you lost your mind?
Your head sloshes
full of soup.
Consider that,
your eye
half eaten by the falcon,
Horus.
Maggots wriggling about
the lens -
have you no shame?
Nothing to see here,
not since I lost my eye,
after all.
What does that even mean?
You cannot have your cake
and have it eaten too.
It takes two to tango,
honey,
and talk is cheap.
So, I speak by the hour,
and pass collection
when the hook penetrates
your soft, upper palate.
Scribbles 'n Bits 