Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry

less dirty

My sister lives on a corner
where you can buy this stuff
that comes in a syringe, for 50 cents a milligram.

It’s hard not to go back to it.

I get the sense that if you embrace it once, a monogomous relationship
becomes mandatory. If it were a dollar, maybe it would be a different story.
As it stands, whenever I see all of these guys
shooting up, I can’t help but feel a sense of jealousy.

I once got into a huge fight with this one turkey
who was a little too eager, took things a little too fast.
It didn’t matter that he was blue in the face, I just can’t take
a man who treats a lover with such reckless abandon.
I left him out behind that old 50¢ store
they converted into a library. I figured
once he’d cooled off, maybe he could pick up a book
on the topic of romance.

But don’t kid yourself, I’m no knight
in shining armour. I’m just a sucker
for the “hooker with a heart of gold” storyline.

It makes this addiction seem a little less dirty to me.



Trying to find the right words.

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