bc headache powder…


naw, i ain’t done yet.
gimme the carisoprodol,
not the laughy-taffy 350’s,
gimme the real damn thing.
if i’m gonna let you open me up,
then i gotta get twisted up;
i don’t want to spend 20 years
thinking about your breath
on the back of my neck. slow.
always slow.

now i’m feeling good, but not great.
there’s a handful of painkillers and
some of those little orange uppers,
gimme both, four or five of both.
ok, now start the questions.
i swear on everything that ever meant anything
to tell the truth, some part of the truth
but i’m scared baby. what if
i give you the wrong answer,
you’ll know i’m telling the truth
you’ll never trust me to lie to you again.

let that sink in,
keep it moving though. i brought
your knives and a screwdriver
i bought at the hardware store
to fix the oven a few months back.
remember that night?
i threw you up on the oven.
i’m sure we could have fucked for hours
if that neighbor hadn’t come
over to borrow some sugar.
sure, the jokes were funny but
i wasn’t looking to laugh.
can’t change it now,
could have been better,
turned out ok.

gimme that bottle over there.
just a few slugs. makes fucking battery
acid through your guts,
but it feels good enough. yeah,
there was a lot i didn’t tell
you ’bout what i’ve been up to,
too twisted to care,
too fucked not to be twisted.
vicious cycle.
lotta blood.

now you gotta ask. ask me,
slash away, get it over with.
leaky skies over your shoulder,
can’t figure it out but you ain’t askin’ nothing.
stop looking at me like that.
little cuts don’t need doctors,

well if you ain’t gonna talk
at least get me a cigarette and light it
for me.
pulling the smoke through feels pretty good
right? i’m so tired and scared
and you won’t say anything.
why won’t you talk?
this was all your idea.

what? didn’t catch that.
yeah, looks like time to lay down,
red spit can’t be healthy
but it sure is beautiful
in this light. i’m gonna just
lay here a while,
gimme the questions later,
i probably wasn’t gonna tell you anything
This poem spent a long time rolling around the dome. The subject is sadness, but the approach was apathetic. I thought they made a nice contrast, and matted against a background that has been destroyed by loss of external focus just seemed to work. I was thinking of two people that had grown apart so far that they could no longer even see each other. Some of you might think this was auto-biographical. I assure you it is not. I wrote 3 or so autobiographical poems in the last week, but it’s your job to figure out which. One was on sunday. don’t bother asking, I know I wouldn’t bother answering. feel free to ask other shit I suppose. do whatever you want, i’m not your boss. never wanted to be either.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: