thatzac

day after thanksgiving.
i am amazingly drunk right now.
i'm feeling really lonely, but there could be more said about that subject.
i just don't feel like it.
instead i will compose a poem on the fly, as per my usual style.

the top to my trash can is laying on the floor.

my father's footsteps are hard and heavy.
i dread weekends because i know he will be home
stomp stomping his way through the house
but as my head hangs over the trash his footstep are pumped down past my ears into the can pounding them tenfold.

his steps say that he is not only awake, but angry.
some people that come to visit me down here will watch my expression as my face drops while he walks but 10 feet higher from where i hide

they ask why i get so scared.

and i'm amazed that they can't hear the giant bellowing down the beanstalk.