the walls

bruised silence
wounded
by those words
those little helicopters
cruising around
cutting it
w/their rotors;
quietly wept,
in the corner
of the two crumbling walls
the walls of their mutual attacks.
covered w/peeling
yellowish paint
(which used to be white when they met)
black mold of their memories
& stains of bleak love.

awakening #2

last drops of rational
dissolved by the intestinal juice
vodka & the hot sauce

as the nights are getting shorter
awakening into the reality
becomes less painful
as you didn’t slip the whole night

numbness is blessed
aftertaste of the hangover
reminds you that you’re alive

perception of the yesterday
is still in the soggy air
good morning & good night
self pity is for losers
have a Coke