27 December, 2009 - Sunday


the air i breath smells of yesterdays vodka
and the putrid scent of snubbed out marlboros

the drawn curtains hide me from the world
the unplugged phone keeps people at bay

i don’t want to view the world
but make it dissolve in my glass of 80 proof

but nothing falls away; nothing dissolves
your face is on everything my eyes slide over

i grab my glass partner, which is almost empty
dancing around my apartment to angry music

the cello is too sweet, the acoustic too lovely
but harsh loud angry electric plays my hurt so well

no longer close, your hand is again your own
no longer close, your eyes close and i scream

pablos’ words no longer apply, only mansons angst
my sweet ceylon now replaced with fermented grain

and the fullness of my heart when you were in it
has been smothered by the loss of your love of me

Michelle Piniella – 12-27-2009


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