We All Hate Milkshakes

A Poem by .

Between split second stares
I'm starting to think
Maybe he's onto me

The generator is buzzing outside
And people are huddling around for a little while
Talking like it's their first time.

their heads aren't glued to the soles of their shoes for once.

Drink alone
Eat alone
Sleep mostly alone
Except for corks of bottles you haven't yet paid for
and skeletons of someone who's face you can't picture anymore
Just bones blending in wine stains on white bed sheets
With sheepskins bleating and crying
Like you,
Missing a warm body to hold onto

She is hoping She can slowly and indirectly become a raging alcoholic
Maybe get bad enough to sell her warm pretty blood for money down in the gutters and tunnels
Where the men are made of stone and the women are made of rubber and neither one knows who rules over the other

At least that's what I read in the paper
Not the Sunday paper,
The one she writes herself
On sheets of glass in white crayons or black ink
And then climbs the metal staircases
And throws them from her balcony
in shards they shatter on the street for all the passing by to read

Four girls down below looked pretty glamorous in rumpled shirts and socks to knees
Like in their bed frames,
old men skeezing over teenage magazines
It's pale
it's dark
it's awkward
Its bony
And I think that it's funny when you say that you know me