ugh.
I tried to write for the first time in a while...and failed miserably. I scribbled down some angry shit, and decided it was worthless. I miss being able to write...here's a poem i wrote a million years ago:
Midnight Crisis
…andohholygoddamn,
let’s never get old!
how could a touch this severe
be mortgaged by a Mortgage?
ineedyourightnowohpleaseohplease,
and the double-windsor can wait.
skip breakfast and forget the routine,
prophylactics, not Prozac.
kissmesohardyourjawclicks,
we both have dental, anyway.
red lines on your skin from stubble
curving around your curves.
idontthinkthisislovebutholyshitwhoneedsit,
logic crumpled up on the floor.
the mattress and box-spring are uneven
but like we always do, we make do.
and!
Movie Buffs
Four teeny almost-baby plastic bottles of wine
hidden in your purse,
stuffed like a merlot-colored stocking,
hung by a fireplace.
We pick seats based on the emptiness
around us.
A shared smile expresses our first victory
together.
The boring-silver light of the previews caresses,
and displays, our touching elbows
and knees, as the plastic armrest
digs into my stubborn ribs.
Plastic twigs on the too-tight twist-off cap
snap like bones in my hands.
The cracks and pops stand out,
dethroning the indie-queen melodies.
The digital surround sound is drowned
by the scoffs and mutters.
We pass the alcohol back and forth
like soldiers trying to stave off the cold.
After the film’s quirky dialogue,
we burst into the lobby full of laughter,
red toothed and lipped.
We critics give the film a tangy kiss goodnight.
Midnight Crisis
…andohholygoddamn,
let’s never get old!
how could a touch this severe
be mortgaged by a Mortgage?
ineedyourightnowohpleaseohplease,
and the double-windsor can wait.
skip breakfast and forget the routine,
prophylactics, not Prozac.
kissmesohardyourjawclicks,
we both have dental, anyway.
red lines on your skin from stubble
curving around your curves.
idontthinkthisislovebutholyshitwhoneedsit,
logic crumpled up on the floor.
the mattress and box-spring are uneven
but like we always do, we make do.
and!
Movie Buffs
Four teeny almost-baby plastic bottles of wine
hidden in your purse,
stuffed like a merlot-colored stocking,
hung by a fireplace.
We pick seats based on the emptiness
around us.
A shared smile expresses our first victory
together.
The boring-silver light of the previews caresses,
and displays, our touching elbows
and knees, as the plastic armrest
digs into my stubborn ribs.
Plastic twigs on the too-tight twist-off cap
snap like bones in my hands.
The cracks and pops stand out,
dethroning the indie-queen melodies.
The digital surround sound is drowned
by the scoffs and mutters.
We pass the alcohol back and forth
like soldiers trying to stave off the cold.
After the film’s quirky dialogue,
we burst into the lobby full of laughter,
red toothed and lipped.
We critics give the film a tangy kiss goodnight.