Beautiful Mess

You’re a mess, the long blonde tress,
artificial curl, teasing neckline and tattoo fresh, peering out from under your loose t-shirt, wondering aloud how you made it to this point.
Red lips and bad trips, letting go of needles and past lovers in an addictive grip.
You beautiful mess, tearing up the night,
with the only way you know how to fight,
taking each shot at life,
wandering drunk and forlorn into the stark cold, abcense of light.
Will this be your groundhogs day,
played over and over until it ends this way?

Cigarette in hand, lipstick drenched filter…a long inhalation and a sigh, but no relief.

19

Longest arc, I felt the slope first go downhill into some faraway land.
The streets seemed to go on forever, existence into memories.
Pale under the dark cover of night, bedtime stories, dormitories, this terrified boy now a man.
I still feel it, aching in my bones.
The love for sowing oats and no concern to return home.
I traded you, handed you around, let you off at the corner. Tossed the street urchins change and moved on.
Food carts, wrappers and cigarettes.
Simple child, simpler expectations, no regrets.
Fleeting chill in the air, easing my bones,
giving me back my childhood
and another night of rest.

Bedfellows

If I had a choice, and of course I do.
The last time, we all get that one fleeting thought that decides to hang around.
I’ve spent too many hours here,
too many days pondering you.
Plug the hole with so many artifacts of the past,
the clouds overhang and the cigarette butts within kicking distance, once flicked– and attached to the mouths of strangers.
We all lie in bed, we spend- countless hours, to defend
our right to be careless or reckless, one in the same.

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