I got a post it
In the mail yesterday
From a woman I told to
Get away
Because I have obligations,
And things to do

I sit here,
Chicken shit scared,
It’s the drugs that get me, man
It’s the drugs that got me, maimed
It’s really too bad they're not mine,
But who they belong to,
I’ll leave unnamed

I got a woman
With a history of being rash, and irrational
I got a heart full of bitterness,
And a viciousness that's 10 miles wide
I got a sad story
But I’ll keep it to myself,
For the rest of the ride

I got a cigarette in hand
And a fantasy
Of coffee with you,
When we all grow up,
And get out of the lives,
We’re born into

I got a record full of
"For the records"
But the good shit
That gets down deep under your finger nails
And burrows its way into
Yellow nicotine tipped fingers
Might as well be lies
Like that beautiful song
That’s chopped up into
Tunes
Coming from
Strings
We didn't even know we had
Played with your little finger
Gently, and pitiful

But I’m a weak woman
With a history
Of popping pills,
And drinking Nyquil,
Becoming docile
To understand

He said he does pharmacy dumpster dives,
Fuck food,
Go for the codeine and morphine,
Told us he had a wife
Somewhere in this great land of ours
That he came down
From Detroit
And he quit heroin
In 1980
Told us
You can't kill a corpse
He said that he favored PCP, wet
He
Shook shook shook
His head,
Had to get to the liquor store
Before god's day
Seeing as
The clock was coming around to
4, and a
Shake shake shake
Can’t wake up without that shit
Gotta go, pop a top,
Down the drain,
Until the buzzing stops

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...