itching for the flea bite that gots me moving
your tattoos can really get me going.

Whatever that shit means.

Listen, love,
this is not the most difficult decision
that's going to catch you at the knees.

Look at the guy,
the cautious rips in his Kurt Cobain t-shirt,
the forehead made for the glory days
of drive-through movies and bad popcorn,
and the way he seems to forget
that leather's out of even the oldest
drag-queen's sense of clever style.

Look at him,
Then look at me.

And take a deep, deep breath.

This isn't going to be difficult at all.

you with your pierced queer face
rolling down the street in a suped up
leather seated mustang
racing queen
of asphalt guilts and striped down pavement whores.

i was never much into you anyways.

but the buddies got me going and you ain't really
showing
that turned off look anymore
i focus on those deadly curves
the way you hug that tight latex dress--
i was never one for fashion sense.

Did I also mention
That this guy really likes it up the ass?

I didn't experience this personally,
but I did hear about it from a friend
that's not gay, and I'm not either,
because I wouldn't hang out with gay guys,
which isn't to say that I hate them or anything,
because I love those crazy cats to death,
well, I don't really mean that I *love* them,
but they're a pretty decent little minority,
as long as they don't try to fuck with me.

Sorry if that doesn't make any sense.

Seriously though, baby,
this guy's really fucking weird.

Food stamps for a hug and so on,
he's the kind of lunatic with Kennedy
conspiracy theories stapled to the white knuckles
that haven't seen sleep anytime this decade,
because the motherfucker probably still believes
that the first stop Jesus is planning to make is
the corner of all his ugly dreams and the dashboard.

And I bet he's got herpes or something.

a tisket a tasket
that shit's already gone
you need me and i don't know
if i still want you
but the real trip is that i already
pawned
that shit you left in my car.

Oh no, you fucking didn't.

Look,
didn't mom tell you to just
stay at home, whenever I go out?

You miserable fucking lunatic.
I'm willing to bet the only real joy
left in your days of chain-smoking
and sleeping late on dad's old couch
is making sure that since you were
such a spectacular failure in the game
of walking and accomplishing even
the most minor victories at the same time,
that no one else should move along either.

Look at me when I fucking talk to you!

Oh, good. That' s just fucking wonderful.

She's over at the other side of the bar now.

Well, mission accomplished, as the old saying
you mumble to yourself over stale Capt. Crunch goes.

You've officially ruined my goddamned night.
we can only hope that the next special k
chick can bring some milk along for the trip
cuz baby
after you
i need my brains fried.

07/25/2005

Author's Note: :) mr. ricard is awsome to work with.

Posted on 07/25/2005
Copyright © 2025 Uriel Tovar