About a girl I used to know who grew bored while I grew tired and stiff

08 May

———–

About a girl I used to know who grew bored while I grew tired and stiff

 

So much

yet not enough

and I don’t care about your punk etiquette

I’m glad that you can afford the mentality

which would dictate a lack of future for the rest of us.

No Hemingway

just junk food and self inflicted cuts along your arms

microwavable burritos and cigarette burns on skin hidden in long sleeves

a craving for morphine and a trust fund that’ll hit when you’re 25.

When do you find time to write, sweetheart

when you spend your nine-to-five feeling sorry for yourself

and selling advertisement space for Family Feud reruns?

Pretending independence

while yearning for arms to wrap around you

while you sleep

dreaming of glittering fame

and of someone finding out who you are

on tiptoes.

I’ll still love you, honey

once California sinks underneath you

and I’ll remember when you called me

“a dirty prophet with a beautiful junkie body”

while I recited poetry between your legs

unconcerned by the handsome gravestones

that grew outside of your windows like a summer fever.

 

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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