I Drink Alone.

I Drink Alone
© Crux Charisma
i want to run naked
through the city
screaming
this is bullshit
and leave nothing
but burning rubble
in my wake
i want firecrackers
to sear wrinkles
in your
botox smile
because the media
(and testosterone)
tell me
i must inseminate
the woman with the
largest breasts
and smallest hips
so another
complacent ingrate
can spill
from her cunt
and rape the planet
more

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Poe-try

London, this magnificent!
with booming industry and might-
(and run
               off)

-books’ll turn minds like horseshoes.
The ivory, the bagatelle, for all
pages but these. For these pages
turn only the sumpter’s grime:
James, nine and at rest
and missing his left hand,
a factory story de-attached.
It’s that fragile time between
autumn and winter and
birds call the bluff. Tophats
and umbrellas keep most
on a loss, in the wind.
And still Patricia, lovely,
pours our two schillings
into the pot. She wears her
hands about James’ forearm,
wishing losses lessened.
William is visible from
                here, barely,
beyond the frightful columns stacking up and on
clotheslines away,
before dropping into a
mister’s chimney to remove
those searing mistakes.
Of all, none more bittersweet
than Jenny, soon fourteen and
life just begun. The factory
had her spun into sickness,
phossy jaw. She lay an
example before apologetics,
without the Church, and
not expect (what’s gone
is truly gone, for good).
She shared her blood
with Gregory, more
reminiscent of the long-
locked dream Oliver on Finsbury:
here, only to stand          defiant
thievery lead his rodent hands
(And Forever, Victorian Reform).

The fog canters through like
modern London, stagecoach
alight, and our lost pages
still must burn. We always turn
when we’re lost. Melvin
ceases to amaze,
quick to smile
and entrust passerby
the flowers that say-
-as bad as time seems,
time will buy change
change will buy time.

(no subject)

Another idea for the ending is just stopping after "I will not cry. I never loved you anyways." As opposed to the whole paragraph. Let me know what you think.

Also, I will make cupcakes for the next meeting if someone will bring milk.

(no subject)

Grey Lies

     Women have no need for men. You are the predator. Your weapons include Mentadent smiles, celebrity cologne, and eyes that shine green when you think. I am a wounded antelope, limping behind the herd. When you stop and stare with hunger, I become petrified and can do nothing but smile back with my generic brand toothpaste teeth and wait for you to pounce.

    I will not go out with you. I do not need forced conversations about my mother’s preferred nail polish and your father’s favorite football underdog. I do not care about your past girlfriends, your car, or your passion for poetry. I’m sure you do not care about my love of pottery, pepperoni pizza, and ping pong. My heartbreaks always start over an innocent dinner at a nice Italian restaurant, lunch at a quaint diner, or brunch on the beach. How about coffee?

    I will not relinquish a kiss. The French cappuccino lingers on your breath. The whispers you slip into my ear are saturated with foamy heat that dribbles past my cheek and down my neck. My teeth ravage my chapped lips, in place of yours. My tongue amuses itself with the ripples of my mouth, instead of yours. I extend my hand for a shake, but I keep staring at a drop of coffee on your lips.

    I will not let you touch me. You move forward and we begin to dance. A sashay keeps me out of your arms, a spin protects me from your lips, and a swaying back step presses me against a wall. Your callused hands scratch my skin and your day-old stubble tickles my ear. My neck betrays me.

     You cannot come up to my apartment. My cat hates people, even me. Going out for sushi was a bad idea, she’ll eat you alive. I haven’t fed her in weeks and seaweed is her favorite. I have no night cap to offer and my plumbing is backed up. My cat ate all my sexy underwear, you don’t care?

    I will not be used. You toss me aside and I spiral precariously towards the ashes of desperation. The soot stains my nose and you jerk me back up. Emotional whiplash prevents me from leaving, pins me to this life that you allot for me. When it begins to wear, you repeat the process. Up, down, cat’s cradle, dog-walking, I am your yo-yo.

    I will not be abused. The bruises are from dance class, I have always been a klutz. This scar is where I burned myself when I was making our anniversary dinner. I must have dropped the pan full of grease on my leg. These scratches are from my cat, she has always been very mean. I would have her put to sleep, but it only happens when you’ve been drinking.

    I will not have an abortion. We can handle a kid. We can name him after your grandfather who taught you how to swim, or my aunt who made the best cookies. Forever could start right now, isn’t this what you wanted? A ball of love that keeps us up all night and poops on the rug? A hairless puppy with a dry nose? I’ll make an appointment.    

    I will not cry. I never cared about you. I didn’t even know you. The sex wasn’t great and your feet smelled. You started to bald in the back of the head, didn’t I tell you? You left the lid up, didn’t switch the laundry, and always wanted to watch the History channel. You hogged the covers, ate my desserts, and burped your ABC’s after it finished being cute. I washed all my clothes and bedding after you left. Now all that’s left to do is spray your cologne on my pillow, put on your favorite shirt, and dance myself to sleep without letting you touch me. Grey LiesCollapse )

(no subject)

I've been very apprehensive about posting this. I'm sorry.

My influences are more sightings than actual contrivances, and
I mostly don't know what to think of this world I keep seeing.

At least I've tried to say something about anything, here.

Thanks for your patience/general indifference. : )

Like-wise Cartesian

Curtis

(no subject)

Alright, alright. Sadly enough, the break is soon to be over. I'm assuming we're going to be meeting the 4th (Wednesday)? And I believe Curtis is to submit a work of his next.

Hoping Christmas has been kind to everyone. I shall plan on seeing you all in the new year!