If You Can Make It 'Till Morning, We'll Find A Way To Get You Drunk, Not High (You're A Wreck)

A bit of a wordy title, but it's a line I had to cut.

your back will arch as a pianist's finger

for whoever decides to tune you next

you're a wreck

you will get your leg over their other half

of your two-backed beast, a classic case of

turn-a-trick

you're a wreck

and you would say you're sorry

but you've given out all the faith in me you had left

from the nothing where we began

there's evidence in the sky

drifting from the throat it choked

you'll get high, but never drunk

alcohol feels like bills in a smoky pocket anyway

cash hitting palms at three past midnight

you sweat and pull, like

feet hitting puddles and hot sheets both

accept and regret the quiet of unplanned martyrdom

and tattooed with psuedo-intelligence and

a disdain for any wisdom

you're a total wreck

an absolute disaster

sitting

on a kitchen floor having a picnic in the rain from the leak

in your roof

and from now on the covers are pulled tight

over, under, and between

the living outnumber the dead tonight

hey, it all counts; the velvet and the velveteen

you're a wreck.

Author's Note

I didn't want to put it in the description to give anything away, but yes, this is about a girl who prostituted herself for money to get a fix and then got an std - either from the sex or the drugs. She's not dead when the poem ends, but she's awfully close.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

really like the wording in this...almost flippant...kind of like the speaker saying "well, you got yourself into this mess, what did you expect with your behavior, but you can still pick yourself up off the floor"

the wreck can get body and mind work done and look and feel almost good as new...although there will still be the memories and the scars.

well done.

jacob