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Wicked

March 28, 2019

Up in a panic
How long have I been lying there?
The clicking of a Bic lead to a swishing that filled the room.
I couldn’t find my composure
Snarls didn’t hesitate to remind my delicate nature from the smallest dog.
Damaged legs draped over the side of the bed- I’m in disrepair.

Patches of red freckled my face.
Freckles of red patched up my legs.

Just keep walking to try and forget.
It’s not working, perfume wafts up to my face.

Confusion turned a proposition.
26 ain’t enough. What day is it? Will this night end?
Six pairs of feet walk down cement stairs.
A club sandwich and a pack of reds amend 26.

Can’t tell if its AM or PM.
A better person wouldn’t be here.
A better person wouldn’t accept this as life now.

Goddamn, what have I become?

What am I to do?

The woman’s pacing, she’s sent into paranoia.
A lack of crack doesn’t seem to register.
Door flies open and she yells,
“I know you’ve been following us, you fucking niggers!”
I pray to god, “Please don’t take me to jail today.”

“Suck, don’t bite!”
Demands to a shell of a human.
Perfumed lotion finishes the job.

Hours later, that’s all I smell.
As I attempt to walk off this wickedness.

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From → Poems

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