ziggs

Leftovers

I pulled on my cock
Until I came,
Spraying myself all over
The Crushed cigarettes and warm,
Watered-down beer.

She'd left hours ago,
But the twinge in my balls lingered.

That was the day I asked her
To have my abortion.
She smiled,
As she always did
When I said something adorable.

"How romantic."

We then proceeded to the dirty deed,
The nasty,
And every other washed out cliche
Used to describe
Animalistic sex,
That rough, torn sex,
The sex that isn't even sex,

It's fucking.

After she left,
I cleaned up,
Pulled myself into the shower.
I could feel the long red lines
Burning their way down my back.
Ten of them,
One for every nail.

I dried off,
And fell into the damp sheets,
Avoiding her stain.
I rolled over to Bukowski,
Lying on my bedside table,
And read of binges,
And of nights like mine,
Until my balls called to me

Again.

I wrote this poem for my creative poetry workshop. 20 mintues and i had this. My prof. loved it. he thought it was great. it really, in his words, "captured the moment." many people in the class were hesitant to speak about it. some said it was "too much". O well, such is life i suppose. personally, i am really proud of it.

Other than that, nothing new and exciting. life is life, and thats all there is too it. however, i am still working on trying to find a new catch phrase, one to end all my journals with. any suggestions are welcome.

And remember, A bullet in the skull is the cheaters way out.