chuck norris' tears cure cancer
remember that murder that happened in a bar? remember how you saw the getaway car?
so as diana, abby, and i were sitting in Denny's tonight there was a man across the room watching us. i noticed him but didn't say anything, thinking he'd go away. man was i wrong. after about half an hour of being a creepy stalker he came over to our table - "hey, so i was wondering if i could join you ladies for some conversation, you seem like a fun table." why we said yes i'm still not sure. if i had the night to do over again this is how the conversation would have gone:
DeShawn (odd name for a very very italian looking man): so, what's your name?
me: they call me Duke
DeShawn: interesting nickname
me: yeah, got it in prison...just got out this morning actually
DeShawn:....what were you in for?
me: attempted homicide. did you know a person could live through being drugged and run over? i didn't.
instead we exchanged names, he rambled about how he's from chicago but here for business and how indianapolis is un-industrialized and boring. i smoked my last cigarette for the night and then my girls and i were sufficiently creeped out enough to leave. as we were leaving he got his coat as well and we booked it to our cars thinking we were going to be raped or at least followed.
diana and i wrote our waiter at Denny's a thank you note. he looked like that one little rich, kind of stuck up, not that william [the waiter] is stuck up, character off of the Fresh Prince.
anyone else kind of miss will smith?
11 cigarettes, 5-6 cups of coffee, a caffeine pill, and two energy drinks later - i refuse to sleep.
well I think that I'm sick, but leave me be while my world is coming down on me Open 24 Hours
the inevitability of winter
caught me off guard
and hit with the cold chill of realization:
this year's seasonal depression
might be spent in no one's arms
but my own, so here i sit
under the flickering lights
of my midnight sanctuary:
Denny's - where the coffee's always acidic,
but i'll drink three cups through
half a pack anyway just to feel the burn.
Denny's - where the night shift
is either strung out or pissed off
as they cater to my needs:
a supermodel's diet of
caffiene, nicotine, and chewing gum,
because i've been living in
a Victoria's Secret commercial
ever since i saw my first billboard,
knowing i could look but not touch,
dream but never attain,
the best i could do was die trying
with a twisted perception of altered perfection,
just inhale the smoke and sigh.
then i'll drive until i forget where i'm going,
take two hours to drive 10 minutes home,
when i'd rather end up at your door
because i have nothing to return to
in the house where i was raised.
i've broken all the mirrors,
tipped all the scales,
child-proofed my existence
where the scissors are plastic
and the knives are all dull.
usually i'm safe just waiting for the dawn,
your good-morning wake up call
to remind me it's a new day,
but tonight i'm too tired to sleep,
i'm too numb to fight
making friends with the shadows
all i have to hold me through the night.
while i count my demons as they dance
across closed eyelids
(long since replacing childhood sheep).
it's a B-movie at best,
a cheesy horror flick with
bad special effects,
only the fear is real.
it's a black and white silent film
tainted crimson and screaming
through each split-second frame
caught between blinking eyes.
so as diana, abby, and i were sitting in Denny's tonight there was a man across the room watching us. i noticed him but didn't say anything, thinking he'd go away. man was i wrong. after about half an hour of being a creepy stalker he came over to our table - "hey, so i was wondering if i could join you ladies for some conversation, you seem like a fun table." why we said yes i'm still not sure. if i had the night to do over again this is how the conversation would have gone:
DeShawn (odd name for a very very italian looking man): so, what's your name?
me: they call me Duke
DeShawn: interesting nickname
me: yeah, got it in prison...just got out this morning actually
DeShawn:....what were you in for?
me: attempted homicide. did you know a person could live through being drugged and run over? i didn't.
instead we exchanged names, he rambled about how he's from chicago but here for business and how indianapolis is un-industrialized and boring. i smoked my last cigarette for the night and then my girls and i were sufficiently creeped out enough to leave. as we were leaving he got his coat as well and we booked it to our cars thinking we were going to be raped or at least followed.
diana and i wrote our waiter at Denny's a thank you note. he looked like that one little rich, kind of stuck up, not that william [the waiter] is stuck up, character off of the Fresh Prince.
anyone else kind of miss will smith?
11 cigarettes, 5-6 cups of coffee, a caffeine pill, and two energy drinks later - i refuse to sleep.
well I think that I'm sick, but leave me be while my world is coming down on me Open 24 Hours
the inevitability of winter
caught me off guard
and hit with the cold chill of realization:
this year's seasonal depression
might be spent in no one's arms
but my own, so here i sit
under the flickering lights
of my midnight sanctuary:
Denny's - where the coffee's always acidic,
but i'll drink three cups through
half a pack anyway just to feel the burn.
Denny's - where the night shift
is either strung out or pissed off
as they cater to my needs:
a supermodel's diet of
caffiene, nicotine, and chewing gum,
because i've been living in
a Victoria's Secret commercial
ever since i saw my first billboard,
knowing i could look but not touch,
dream but never attain,
the best i could do was die trying
with a twisted perception of altered perfection,
just inhale the smoke and sigh.
then i'll drive until i forget where i'm going,
take two hours to drive 10 minutes home,
when i'd rather end up at your door
because i have nothing to return to
in the house where i was raised.
i've broken all the mirrors,
tipped all the scales,
child-proofed my existence
where the scissors are plastic
and the knives are all dull.
usually i'm safe just waiting for the dawn,
your good-morning wake up call
to remind me it's a new day,
but tonight i'm too tired to sleep,
i'm too numb to fight
making friends with the shadows
all i have to hold me through the night.
while i count my demons as they dance
across closed eyelids
(long since replacing childhood sheep).
it's a B-movie at best,
a cheesy horror flick with
bad special effects,
only the fear is real.
it's a black and white silent film
tainted crimson and screaming
through each split-second frame
caught between blinking eyes.