March Madness

more of those whiskey dick woes

 

 

I’m officially sick to my stomach

YOU

have made me sick to my stomach

 

I’m aggravated / you

are always inebriated

 

I’m always so good / so innocent / so sweet

but you / YOU

make a good girl go bad

 

I don’t know why I don’t fight / like other girls

I walk away

Maybe, it’s because no man I’ve met has been worth fighting for / well,

 

I’m not into those games

those tumultuous strategies

energy zapping scenarios

 

and you have the audacity to ask “what did I do?”

 

and I want to say “I don’t know, maybe all that booze has killed some brain cells

if you can’t figure it out!”

 

Why can’t I tell a loser off?

Why am I always looking to see the good in a person?

 

I could throw up right now / wish I could throw up on your shoes

Your sob stories pouring out to my gentle compassion

I become mute

 

I’m persistently aware that a Tsunami in the form of the fluid

from a Canada House bottle will whiskey you away

where a bartending, insecure girlfriend will pour you another drink

 

You tell me how amazing I am / you tell me you heart me

And me...acting like I don’t hear those empty words / and

ignoring your whiskey dick as it tries to reach for me, but

falls asleep

 

I feel nothing / Nothing

I’ve went cold

That moment in my mind like the time of death in a hospital / documented

That was the time I lost what was left of my faith

Reviews

[Everett DeValle]

Awesome...brutally blunt...a shot of Jamison is nice, but I'm more of a rum guy...Well, I heart Mary Jane, but you know this...its a touching poem because in the end, we are alone...at times, it makes us numb. We live and we move on.

Sublime inking, Colette. :)

[Colette]

who would ever pay attention to my words if it wasn't for u - eh Ev? thanks for following me thru my life in poetry, i appreciate ur presence