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Rachel’s hair, black as ink, splatters my blank skin. It’s a rewrite for bad readers, a stroll for quick-to screamers, a phone call at 3 a.m., and a sickening high that just won’t end. Rachel’s teeth, sharp/jagged like littered glass shards, dig into my aged, faintly seasoned flesh. It’s a feast for lazy vultures, an eyesore for devout heathens, a dusty revolver on a Sunday, and a lone drunk at a flybuzz wedding. Rachel’s soul, battering ram/sputtering mad, dilutes toxic mine, leaves only the rind. It’s a constant reminder for dangerous nostalgia, a blanket smoldering in fire within winter-without-end, a handshake and a heart attack for closest kin, an elevation, a joyous atomic cloud, and a sky crying elative confetti tears of future me.
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Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:52 PM UTC
Rachel the Revolver
Rachel’s hair, black as ink, splatters my blank skin. It’s a rewrite for bad readers, a stroll for quick-to screamers, a phone call at 3 a.m., and a sickening high that just won’t end. Rachel’s teeth, sharp/jagged like littered glass shards, dig into my aged, faintly seasoned flesh. It’s a feast for lazy vultures, an eyesore for devout heathens, a dusty revolver on a Sunday, and a lone drunk at a flybuzz wedding. Rachel’s soul, battering ram/sputtering mad, dilutes toxic mine, leaves only the rind. It’s a constant reminder for dangerous nostalgia, a blanket smoldering in fire within winter-without-end, a handshake and a heart attack for closest kin, an elevation, a joyous atomic cloud, and a sky crying elative confetti tears of future me.
jj-hutton
Written by
American
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:52 PM UTC
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