20 November 2019

it’s unclean, this dark
and it hurts -- my hands, 
those cigarettes,
it’s gunpowder endings and ash in
the usual way, if you didn’t know,
and these things are like that 
sometimes. 

they don't wash off easy.

but i’m not Scotch-bottle weak -- watch me,

i say to music turned all the way up, near

drowning in the 24/7 caffeine high

and i think i’m mostly scared as hell 

but no one seems to be listening so 

i’m over here laughing and 

pretending my hardest 

that i don’t understand 

why he did it.

Reviews

[The Twin Arenas]

great. it's a damned thing, isn't it, when you know? not something put into words well often.
last stanza perfectly distilled.

[...]

At this poem i can feel you wana tell to story. Some moment of important experience. I can smell cigaret ash and scent of whiskey. Almost explosion of gun powder through your emotional words. I like your honesty how you admit you are scare. Authentic aspect of writing is always powerful. On the end is mystery who is this person who make this experience and why. I always like when author don't say all story. When i how to use my creation and imagination to picture my own experience into text. I really enjoyed it was great journey thank you.