Two-hundred and Seventy-Four: Peachy

I ricochet around the room, ping-ponging words,
easy as whores, and I drink gin; one, two, three, four.
More! I crochet my fingers behind necks,
lacing the space between us because
I can’t plait secrets with only my soul.
I crave tight knots so that I can unwind.
I unravel my attention all over the floor
so I can watch them trip and fall.
My eyes scallop from face to face
as I lasso them with unicorn hair
and reel them in. This is real.
My high-heels puncture the ground;
needles of a machine sewing social seeds.
I inhale their attention.
Cigarettes. I steal them.
My smile is a prison.
I squeeze straws to feel the braille of my teethmarks.
Dirty. I’m dirty. But I like it.
Oh I love this song!
I play Tag with dance partners.
Wait! I forgot I was smoking!
I burnt you? I’m sorry.
I know that pain. We flirted
months ago but sometimes
he still haunts me.
Zap! Zap! Zap!
I shoot boys with winks.
I taunt like it’s a sport.
Wild thing. Make your dick sing.
I dance on my knees because I’ve got a better view down there.
Move over.
Don’t fucking look at me!
Fuck you for looking at me.
I scowl over my shoulder.
Where the hell did I put my drink?
Think, think, think.
Sing, woman, sing!
Didn’t you drown this song years ago?
His lost goodbye tickled me pink.
Speed up. Slow down. Now! Do it now!
Rattle, rattle, rattle.
Zing, zing, zing!
Hold me. Do it. Do it before I wake up.
Isn’t everything just peachy?


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

8 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Seventy-Four: Peachy”

      1. I don’t do anything you paint the picture vividly with your words. You’ve gone from victim to abuser but lost your own respect along the way and you are still hurting here.

        I’d be a bit afraid to meet THAT Lexi, don’t let that become who you are.

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