I'm that used ****** under the bed that your girlfriend found.                                                                                                          I'm that last breath you take before you drown.                           I'm that raised manhole cover that give you blowouts.              I'm that pothole in the hood that the City knows about.         THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm the safety on that nine that determines life or death.                                                                                                                 I'm that asthma attack you had when you couldn't catch your breath.                                                                                                          I'm that last surviving egg about to go head on with that *****.                                                                                                         I'm that ***** next door that gave your wife that ****** up perm.                                                                                                        THEY CALL DRAMA.                                                                                I'm that wooden baton when you get your *** beat by the cop.   I'm that SUV the kids jumped out of when they robbed the **** spot.                                                                                                               I'm that sweat tricklin' down your cheek like someone shot ya. 
I'm that quarter pound of **** under your seat when the cops stop ya.                                                                                                   THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that Breathalyzer test that test alcoholics.                                I'm that ******* that comes back after you flush the toilet. I'm that **** you took before you realized you ran out of tissue. 
I'm that *** stain left on blouses by government officials. 
THEY CALL DRAMA.                                                                               I'm that cold turkey when you got dope dependency.                       I'm that bottle of pills when you got suicidal tendencies.            I'm that bet your ******* made when you knew you didn't have no money.                                                           ­                                I'm that roach crawlin' cross your T.V. every time you got company.                                                                                                THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that hole in your socks when you try on new sneakers.     I'm that ****** up sound that comes out when you got busted speakers.                                                        ­                                               I'm that slippery lane when girls think they're to cute to bowl. I'm that telephone pole when young car thieves lose control.       THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                             I was that dingy *** collar infested with Jeri curl juice.                  I was that crack addiction you had when you noticed your pants were too loose.                                                                  ­                 I was that closet your friend came out of when he said that he was gay.                                                                                                           I was that red spot on those blue jeans when your little girl forgot it was the 28th day.                                                                  THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                          I'm that **** you take after the 3rd day of being burnt.               I'm those dingy thongs when women wear those short *** skirts.                                                                                                           I'm that government cheese that didn't melt in your baked macaroni.                                                                                                   I'm that 10year bid you did all because you didn't rat on your *****.                                                                                                          I'm that long Island ice tea that got you that DWI charge.                                                          ­                                              I'm that slippin' transmission in bank robbers getaway cars.    THEY CALL ME DRAMA.                                                                         I'm that seven you rolled every time you played craps.             I'm that burnin' sensation your girl gave you.                          
**** it. Just call me the clap.                                                            ­                                                 I'm that 300lb. Freak talkin' about "let me get on top boo'.                                                            ­                                                      I was that DNA the cops found that pointed straight to you.    I was that broken crack pipe when you had just brought an 8ball of crack.                                                                                                I was that ******* coke you brought that wouldn't come back.    I was that peanut butter and jelly sandwich after school      when there wasn't **** else to eat.                                                             ­                                                       I was that smell between your toes when you had stink feet.                                                            ­                                                       I was those socks on your hands when you couldn't afford gloves. I'm those bubbles that float up your back every time you **** in the tub. THEY CALL ME DRAMA.  c. R. Mendoza

***** girls, with tight short skirts,
sand in the eyes—the colour of dirt; employed
by the moon, and doing the night work.
Quivering in the cold, like skeletons out of their
closet—to act as if you don't know their prices.
But it's quite obvious!

The alleyways smell of ****; the club scene of
turning a blind eye to your number of drinks.
Charismatic ill gentleman, with their casual winks;
its the end of the week. As the troublemakers parading
the street.

The performance of the local band, guitar, drums,
keyboard, bass, and of course a mic at hand.
A breathalyzer for an asthma attack, to break the pressure
in awkward conversations with the rude jokes to crack.
Lap dances in the centre room; a long key looking for the
right lock. The goal of every man to score by their crotch.
Lest he has the *****!

Perfumed necks, and high cleavage vests, to show off
some perky *******. Tightly tuned hair—linear
of a piece of linen wrapped in good and neat care.
There's barely enough chairs; so sip a little while
looking around for a seat. And don't be too shy to move
your feet. But watch your step, least not to bump into a stranger,
and disturbing the chaotic night's peace.

Taste a little bit of love; in their cup under the
lasting lust of every fallen star. Take some company
back home, stuffed in a six sitter car.
As we watched a day end—watching another rise by
the time of that great Morningstar. To describe a night
they hope never ends. So by the next week, we'll be doing
it all again.

If you could only see me think of you when I am drunk, then we would both know how real this is.

*** and July
   gives tingling heat,
paves way
  for all romanticism,
and poor Rudy,
wrote a letter of love before dawn, and as expected,
           she adored it,
  never were they told,    
Romeo and Juliet is a ******* tragedy!

Drunk

Without regret
I pound on her
The keyboard
The typewriter
The idea
The lady
The liquor
The order
In which I
Pronounce them,
In order
Of completion
In reverse

I got it wrong
For the last time
I got it wrong
**** isn’t bliss
But ignorance is
Fueled by jesus
& volunteer service
I only hope that people will read
Long enough
and allow  
Enough time
To write something
Better then this

Early poems and early love
Life is a story that none of us can think of
When it goes wrong
We never figured out turn right
We just keep driving straight

A blur of words slurred!
Of times I’ve wasted of times I’ve swore
Times of drunkenly swerved
That I’ve been good but I have been better
Breathalyzer trend setter
I’m going to go ride my bike
And look at the sky

don’t drink and drive.
Trust me, it makes mothers go mad

I've been tested,
Yes, I'm arrested:
I freely confess
Being under the influence.
I'm compromised
By breathalyzer eyes.

Hi, I’m Sam and I’m a girl.  Well, a girl trapped in a 40 year old body is more like it.  I feel, think and act like a kid.  Great for me!  Maybe that’s part of my charm, or maybe that’s why I’m alone.  I don’t really know, I’m just starting to get to know me.  For the longest time I lived in a world of haze, *****, ***, drugs, and more *****.  Days would go by and I couldn’t tell you what I did.  Pretty scary waking up on a Monday morning thinking, “What day is it?  Am I working today?”  How the hell I kept a job is beyond me.  

Actually, I didn’t keep one.  How humiliating.  I wasn’t even drinking at work, I was just a little buzzed from the night before.  Ok, a lot buzzed.  So buzzed that I don’t remember the first three hours at my desk, talking to customers -- nothing, just nothing -- zippo, blank!  Absolute blackness, even now looking back at that day, it’s all a blur.  From the time HR came to my desk to bring me to the hospital for a breathalyzer, until I called a cab and went home crying.  I had to make a stop along the way to the liquor store, of course.  I was actually mad at them!  How dare they?  Now I can laugh about it, then it wasn’t so funny.  Especially since it took days for me to realize I was unemployed.