|Hold your horses!|
She warmed my heart
of that cool December frost.
And anchored me down
North of that concrete jungle,
against its persistent whirlwind
that brought pebbles from the jungle,
pebbles of my past,
against my ensnared, drunken body.
A sober reminder that her intoxication
- B. A.
Nineteen: the age of powerlessness
in so many ways.
Nineteen is so lonely,
indivisible except by one and itself.
Nineteen; the agony of alcohol,
of your father’s beers
and your best friend’s margaritas
and puking in your garbage can.
Of drugs as consumable forgetfulness
and the waste product of paranoia,
sitting in your sheets alone
waiting for the bombs to hit.
The damp grittiness of foreign bodies
and the smell of what you did last night
lingers no matter how many candles
and bridges you burn.