months have passed since we've spoken.
lyrics and syllables have been transferred
between lipline and bloodline, but
all we've managed to do is slur.

i take another shot, and lean into the bar.
tattooed arms cross in self indigence
you say, "i'm going to go now,
this heel is biting into my flesh, and
i don't look half as cute as i used to
when you'd look at me."
swirled by a drunken haze, i retort,
"go... 'cause that child's not mine,
will never be mine. waiter! another round.
i'd rather drown my sorrows then
dig them out of eyelids with a fork."

you turn your back to me,
walking away upon legs i once spread.
turn and pretty yourself,

(though it'd take years of caking on
before i'd ever see an improvement.)

08/13/2004

Author's Note: okay, a personal apology to joe and sarah. i stole the topic, but i just couldn't resist.

Posted on 08/13/2004
Copyright © 2025 Rachelle Howe