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DEBBIE KIRK
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, I’m 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 don’t 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 I’m convinced that I’ll 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 wasn’t meant to be won) But I find myself wanting some comfort And pills aren’t doing it And I can’t 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 I’m 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. Marked bruises were strangled out of the laughing moon landing on my neck like a halo that had lost its post texas twisters today flooding locusts it’s the first time the sky has flashed it’s baby blues at me since the last time the world stopped breathing Trilogy 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 “Do you still think I’m pretty?” 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 There’s a sign for a used car lot Not all of the letters are lit anyone And the sign illuminates USER 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 Reviews Presents And letters of acception If we evolve surely we’ll 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 www.debbiedkirk.com |
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