Darkness In A Four Room Attic
Midnight's hollow streets...
Rolls Royce crushes cigarette butts as sinful, cold drizzle of animalistic desire
lurks on shadowy corners of locked buildings, for a price... negotiable..
Balconies bear yesterday's broken beads as a jazz musician is soundly asleep.
So much hard numbness in those easy to open bottles...
It rains over useless signs: " Do Not Park On Bridge!"
Skid marks end in despair...
A street light dies totally alone...
The phone rings with a grin looking for a Call Girl.
... Hello?
I tear out my heart and replace it with a wallet
Lipstick crosses boundaries of good taste so romance cannot develop.
I lay down frames with pictures of loved ones, face down...execution style...as I
pour myself a glass of Morality Suicide...I drink it before I let myself go for, yet,
another night of desensitized numbness...
Dark Prose Poetry
*any resemblance to a real person is purely coincidental
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Iolanda Scripca 2/1/2011 |
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