It’s the speed that ruined your life
not some girl named Julie.
It’s the soul devouring
depression of Meth.
The shit that leaves your skin cracked open
your insides too parched to bleed out.
Bone rubbing bone
you wore out your gristle.
You jerked that thing raw.
Sat on the curb crying
into your doll lashes
men had to turn away.
Still you blame us
stick your tongue in empty baggies
search for residue.
Something that once felt good
with only a sleeping bag
in a cold alley.
It’s seduction stronger than mine
my pampered foot in your mouth.
Can’t you see?
No one wants eyes like that!
They belong on velvet paintings,
on third world faces
empty bowls for flies to drink.
We need shades to look into the burn.
Yet you don’t call it high
unless it’s mainlined
even if your mouth is so dry
I can hear it clicking a room away
membrane minus the mucous.
leather mouth jacket.
That look is a sign on your back
kick me please!
I get it I understand,
if I’m the bad guy-
speed can be the good cop
but I refuse to put that suit on
as I write this you suck my toes
I squeeze your nipple
long body too pale in day’s light.
Poem of the Week
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by Bill Pieper
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