Mickey's.

Til death do us party.

 

I never have more than a quarter tank of gas.

Resin stains on my sweater and dried blood on my jeans.

I collects battle scars and cigarette burns

and dreams I wish were memories.

 

I need to find my head again,

squeezed tight between both of my knees.

so much for hopeless romantic

I'm pretty much just hopeless now.

 

blood may be thicker than water,

but it sure as hell doesnt taste better.

 

Mitch is too busy confusing irony for coincidence

and happiness for a deathwish.

He's short and smelly, like his favorite brand of cigarettes.

 

We live like pigs and then we run from them

Popping pills on rooftops and hiding from cops in cornfields.

I know you couldnt hear me with all that beer in your mouth

I've decided to only drink every second tuesday of every week.

 

 

 

This beers getting wasted, or I am.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

"Your drunk."
"Nah, Im Irish."

Skip school, not jumprope.

this sucks, il fix it later.

Reviews

[Wildecat]

Well once upon a time I was a teenager too, and must say I have been through the things you describe it your poem. Nice write enjoyed reading your poem.

[Zatoichi]

this doesn't read like a drunken poem, but it's certainly a vivid picture of a moment.
i see your poems as much as read them. take care of your health. love, dad

[Last Lying Look]

hahah I liked this. It was edgy.
Didn't suck at all.