Weekend Warrior

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
the blues leads to resilience leads to poison leads to parking lots leads to convulsion.

Submitted: October 13, 2011

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Submitted: October 13, 2011

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two for one deal at the party house
can’t pass this up
dinner and a band
how quaint
I let the blues
Get the better of me
And it’s about time
I had some fun
I came with the intentions
of getting utterly fucked up
Because I want to forget
like all good girls
That’s a lie and I know it
Some of our friends are going to be there
but they’re there every weekend drinking
being weekend warriors
Zaya gets us the goods
two six packs of Sparks
caffeine laced alcoholic grenades
sure to make your heart stop
my mouth turns atomic orange
Ari tries to stop me
Like that ever stops me
Three deep and I lace one
With vodka provided so
Generously by a guy smoking
Weed
I hate that stuff
Harry watched
I call him
that went well
No it didn’t
It went about as well
as trying to swallow
a bowl of nails
Kristina called him retarded
deadline
I called him again
I fucking hate getting wet
Standing in the kitchen
surrounded by costumed people
six Sparks deep
and pay some kid dressed like a rejected droog
a dollar for three cigarettes
maybe they would make the world stop
looking like someone upped the contrast
I unsteadily burn away my dollar
I forgot my name
and they ask me my name
Harry says my name is Retarded
I ash on my fingers
The 40oz. appears from nowhere
like it even matters where it came from
his beard grinned as I drank
I declare that I had to pee
The bathroom is broken
So I stumble my way through
The kitchen
Into the backyard into
the rain I hate
this stupid house I hate
this stupid beer I hate
this bladder
I hardly notice Harry
followed mein
for a hug I hate
hugs
But they are nice
When you are sad
slipped a damp hand down
no
another went up my
no
sending a sluggish shock
no
comprehend the situation
no
slowly pulling away
no
he pulls back fast
no
backed against a wall
no
cling to me
no
hands never had permission
my fingers were too weak
Over and over and
over
no pushing away
his hands no
when I --
Half laying on a couch
He’s staring at me
From across the room
There’s a revolting feeling
Screaming at me
From the pit of my stomach--
Outside puking in the alley way
Shaking it’s so cold
Ari’s watching
commenting on how much I’m puking
Go back inside
Gotta get the taste out of my mouth


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