Complete Alone

I take a deep long drag off my smoke
And exhale slowly, while its still hanging from my moist lips
Slowly and dramatically
Sometimes I even throw in a little cough
Just another affectation
That temporarily keeps me from feeling anything real

But alas, Iím glad the charade is over
For that bitter honey melon moon moment
I almost thought
That all of the evil
The rawness
Had been sucked out of me
Like someone had put smiling happy leaches
On my body while I was sleeping
Taking away my curse forever
And I guess it was easy to believe because
Of all this glowing going on inside me

The very first thing I did
When the news hit the streets
Faster than my head
Was the most evil, hateful, spiteful thing I could think of
And I can tell you first hand
That just because something that you do
Brings tears to your eyes does not mean that you donít enjoy it
I took off my sunglasses
And put back on my evil glare and smirk
And they fit like the old leather jacket
Hanging in my closet
Which Iím convinced that Iíll never outgrow

And I can almost see the angry blood
Pumping thru my veins
Beneath my skin
Spelling out anthems for destruction
To the sound of my heart racing
(A race that wasnít meant to be won)

But I find myself wanting some comfort
And pills arenít doing it
And I canít afford enough wine
To do it properly
I want the kind of comfort that
A bullet proof vest might provide
Or a straightjacket
Or a hug
But nothing helps.

I sure did pick up the pen quickly
Like a draw against myself
And just like always
I beat myself
In more ways than one

But I never looked back

And now that Iím on my own again
I almost feel complete
Right And I could be wrong
But I think that this is the ending
I would have written for myself
If I had been given that power
In the first place.


bruises were strangled out
of the laughing moon
landing on my neck
like a halo
that had lost its post

texas twisters today
itís the first time the sky
has flashed itís baby blues at me
since the last time
the world stopped breathing


There are three in the trilogy of my heart
An anarchy symbol shaped
Cheap chandelier that shatters from time to time
And the little shards of glass
Show the big ugly truth
In thousands of tiny versions

USEd caRs

The trees
They reminded me of the karate kid
And of that little dump
We once rented in Orange County

In spite of the Christmas disease in the air
There were lights
And we were driving on the stained pavement
Water was leaking from the sky
Not like a rain
More like a amnesty plea

I thought about saying
ďDo you still think Iím pretty?Ē
but I lit a smoke instead
and crossed my legs with as much class
as I could wrangle up

This made me wake up
And realize I needed to keep playing
The game
I felt like I was trailing with one point

I thought about the time I gave someone a pep talk
About relationships
She was playing hotel California in the background
And smoking dust
Our connection kept getting interrupted
But I stood on a soapbox and told her that
The answer to keeping a relationship
Was to maintain power

Of course, I was sitting alone
With a bottle
But I was just crazy enough to feel
Righteously indignant
When the shoe is on the wrong foot
My survival skills kick in
and all I need is a band aide
and a airplane shot to stay in the race

So I just looked out the window
Watching each block fade into the next
It even smelled suspiciously suburban
And the only thing that kept me from being
Car sick
Was the connections of the neon lights
How they went on forever
How they would break up
And then be back together
The ebbs and flows made sense
Felt comfortable
Like sleeping in holy blankets
That had never been blessed

Thereís a sign for a used car lot
Not all of the letters are lit anyone
And the sign illuminates
I think you were humming

I lit up again
And planned my next move
To keep you in love with me.

I bit the mailman

There exists an unspoken affair
Between the small time writer
And the post man
One of pure love and pure hatred
One that changes day to day.

They bring rejections
And letters of acception

If we evolve
surely weíll be on all fours
Barking as soon as we see them
Walk into our territory

My days are fragile and a mailman
Can break them or make them
On Sundays, however
I feel nothing
And it usually rains all day

Debbie Kirk is a 31 year old writer\artist in Austin Texas.
Check out her website at

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