you stare at me behind melting stained-glass eyes
with your own sunlight filtering through them
in a way that would be serene on any other sunday.
but today you rub two coins together between
your thumb and forefinger, in hopes that maybe they'll
multiply and you can get out of this hellhole, this shitheap,
and with every stubborn intention, you glare and spit and chew
and smoke and sizzle and glow in some kind of unhealthy way
(you really should stop that, you know).
today you hold back acid cannon ball words on leashes made of twine
that are already beginning to fray under present circumstance,
but you tug and tell them bad dog and they lie still for a while
(a wise choice, that),
at least until you start drinking again.

you just don't get it, do you, you stupid bitch?
you numb hooker.
rubbing two coins together has never and will never produce offspring
(cha-ching)
and if it did, why, i'd be rubbing quarters till my fingers bled,
and until the bones shone through and i lost grip on the coins
because of all the blood,
and still i'd be rubbing.

fucking whore.
you just don't get it.

05/09/2011

Posted on 05/18/2011
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