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The-empty-cupboardPoems
Getting on through a trying work hour in the night-time rush, groped by strangers with dark eyes the color of neglect and whiskey. Men with knives under their sleeves, calling you back and back again, refills for their poison and pretzels for the table, don't be a ***** darling. I only want to feel those hands trembling under mine. All you ever knew were the bruises and the burns. Gliding closer and closer to your face, your hands, inching towards the skin that gleams, exposed and invokes the shame you feel from fetid breath on your neck, these animals with moldering livers. but another round for the men in the grease and grime. Green bottles and a smile that said 'I like the taste of your weakness, You like the abuse.'
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Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
The users. The wrecked.
Getting on through a trying work hour in the night-time rush, groped by strangers with dark eyes the color of neglect and whiskey. Men with knives under their sleeves, calling you back and back again, refills for their poison and pretzels for the table, don't be a ***** darling. I only want to feel those hands trembling under mine. All you ever knew were the bruises and the burns. Gliding closer and closer to your face, your hands, inching towards the skin that gleams, exposed and invokes the shame you feel from fetid breath on your neck, these animals with moldering livers. but another round for the men in the grease and grime. Green bottles and a smile that said 'I like the taste of your weakness, You like the abuse.'
The-empty-cupboard
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The-empty-cupboard
20/American
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
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