Here I was,
pheromones **** in the chilly fall air,
tumbling about among the atoms and molecules of
oxygen and nitrogen and methane and gas
for any to stop and smell and--
Please just grab my ***.
The truest of lights
streams into my eyes,
blinds me and unclothes me,
throws off all of my lies and false feelings
and turns me into the soppy mess I am.
I stumble down the street,
tears blurring my vision;
"I'm going for a walk,"
I tell them,
"I'm going to find my friends."
They've all left me behind,
I tell myself.
I'm alone and trailing them
on this road of
***** and
tears.
I had wrapped up my hair,
worn the shortest of shorts,
drank until I couldn't think
and still--
and still I walked alone.
The lights of Columbus and
the crisp air of an
old country route
haunt my heart,
play hopscotch and
dress it up all
nice and tidy.
Whether a **** and
pulsating body
were against me or not,
would I be happy?
My body is fighting to break free
but my drunken mind
can't even manage that.
Here I am,
world,
take me for all my
sloppy iniquities,
I think, stumbling back to the house
from an adventure poorly spent.
He had gone
and so had him,
boy was done with
my foolish whims.
True love is hard to find
and true like is even harder
but sometimes it helps to just
sit back and think and
ignore the thunder
of thousands of people pushing down
on your weary, little head--
platonic attraction
just doesn't cut it, sometimes.
The mounties rear up and back
and I walk around;
a girl pukes her heart out and
I crush it into the dirt.
The door slams open and
all eyes rest upon me,
those drunken
and
judgmental
eyes.
Their gaze burns me,
catches me alight
in the unwavering flames
of social curiosity.
"Are you all right?"
they ask me.
I fall down instantly,
sink into the old oak floorboard,
melt into the grain and
become a vague pattern among
millions and millions of black and brown circles and lines--
"Yes,"
I answer,
"I'm perfectly fine."
Here I was,
sloppy and seeping onto the cold, hardwood floor.