Two-hundred and Fifty: concentrate

the bottle is permanently empty but if i cut myself
(just one more time) you can drink some dirty wine.
it’s the sixty-nine of emotions (but i can’t

if you hang a picture of New York on your wall
and wait for night to tumble in, its reflection will
make you hungry for the biggest fucking apple.

it’s the sixty-nine of emotions (but i can’t

concentrate) as we sit beneath a sky that is always,
always orange; him with his vulgar foreign words
and me throwing confessions like darts at the wrong target.

i laughed for a long time after we hung up, my eyes squinting
into little bright lines, bringing my hands up to my mouth,
staining my kid gloves with lipstick just in case he tried to kiss me.

and he did. and i let him. even though i was sober. and it was good.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

5 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Fifty: concentrate”

  1. Someday WHEN (for I will) I visit Greece, maybe we can have coffee and cupcakes πŸ™‚

    My hair is naturally black. Was long, till I cut it VERY short a few months ago. Thinking of colouring it soon though.

    Cockroach red? That’s creative but also kinda gross. But they do have a unique blackish reddish tint don’t they. Cockroaches and mosquitos are the only animals I kill with glee, btw.

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