Sunday, September 16, 2018

Sweating Bullets (For Rusty)

I don’t write poems to be noticed and I need to start reminding myself of that more
I don’t write poems for Hank’s approval or any dickwad who gets so drunk they piss themselves and then throw you out of their apartment because you remind them of when they were still hungry and mad as a hatter
I didn’t even take that much Oxy and I’m still sweating and restless and sick to my stomach like an addict or Judy Garland wannabe

Sometimes I write poems to try and calm down, other times I write poems because it’s the only form of communication that doesn’t breakdown
I honestly wouldn’t know which hole to stick my dick in any longer and for honest to goodness physical contact with a real human that no longer computes and hasn’t for decades
Sure there are issues of trust, but it’s more than that as I find myself living in an armored tank where no one gets lets in for long and the few that do wish they hadn’t

She mentioned wanting to see The Stanley Hotel and I’m down with that
I also want to visit a pot lot and just for good measure pick up a Velvet Elvis
Going west at this point is my only option because I know if I stay in Cleveland, I will die in Cleveland and quite likely by my own hand

I don’t believe in cries for help and I’ve never seen my poetry as an outlet
I was built to write poetry, created for the sole purpose of creation and that is the only Gospel that’s ever made any sense to me
Recently on the phone Rusty asked if I was afraid of death which I found funny because he already knows the answer

Charles Cicirella

No comments: