THE LOST TAPES Vol.33: spoils of a shitty weekend

Like Nuit she bends down over me
Like Hadit I let myself be kissed 

***

   Post-carnage
   They suck on my titties like they love me
   Oblivious to the blades and the dry blood
   Little baby birds
   Desperate for attention
   Desperate for relief
   Together we greet death
   Post-mortem of the living
   Me scribbling on the gooseflesh

***

   Hangover swinging
   Swinging at the playground
   Throw up on the grass
   Mud angels on the wet sandbox
   Sopping wet and shivering
   Better run before the devil snatches my soul 

***

   The remodel affected our bench
   Plucked it from the ground
   And now all that’s left
   Is the thought of our bench
   And now I’m sitting on the bench
   Not the one that’s in front of your house
   For that one, though, I must tell you
   Is obsolete
   Your house has changed
   It’s not yours anymore; theirs
   Whoever they are
   They ruined your sun-orange happy home
   It’s ruined now
   Orange-ish shambles
   All happiness was gone with you
   All you was gone with you
   And all that’s left is my empty shell
   And this carelessly misplaced bench
   That I can’t sit on anymore
   Because I love you too much to stay here 

***

CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!
Fucking kids drinking the bottle of cheap energy drink I poured my 15% blueberry cocktail on
Fuck these kids drinking my blueberry cocktail pretending they drunk 

***

strawberry tea
untitled, her house
her street at least
terrible headache
hangover came early
in the freezing cold a night
i’m here, alone
in her street, lurking
thinking about writing a letter
but hey
don’t even know her anymore
strawberry tea 

***

dehydrated
i leave my mark as little spots of foam
that will be nothing but memory
— in writing —
at dawn 

***

talk with the professor in the morning
talk with the poet in the morning
remember the promises you made 

***

in all black
i want to be the least a woman
to these miserable men 

***

The drug dealing
The sex behind cars
Doesn’t matter
We will all forget about it
In the morning 

***

Where’s the party at?
Ten people in the back of a truck
Just follow my fiery trail
Left some drunk fucks dancing on the street
There’s no mistake
We all laugh 

***

   Don’t judge me if I like to abide by the rules. As a matter of fact, I should be the one judging you.

***

   Dirty pothead rasta, stinking of weed and lack of higiene, approaches me like so many of his kind have done before. Sweet talk, wants to sell some art.
   — Good afternoon, miss. Do you have a minute? I’d like to show you my work.
   His work is all laid down on a dusty red sheet on the ground at the boulevard. Handcrafted everything, some raw crystals also laying around. Nothing that got me the least interested.
   — So... Do any of these items interest you? — He asks.
   — Honestly, no. None really interest me... But they sure are beautiful pieces.
   That I said in a very sincere tone, like I never thought my voice could ever emit, and he noticed that. So we exchange looks, and I somehow find in his countenance one of complete honesty and respectability. “I can respect this man”, I thought to myself, and am pretty sure he did the same, to the point of putting it into test.
   — You know what it is? I believe you can understand very well the struggles of an artist. You for sure understand how much of myself I gave to my pieces, and you also understand that is not easy for me to find a living out of my passion. Miss, thank you for the appreciation, and even if nothing here is of interest, I would thank you from the bottom of my heart if you could give me any kind of help, any monetary value.
   Knowing all I had was a little coin change I was saving to give the first homeless to ask, I say: — Unfortunately, if I’m carrying any money on me, it’s nothing but change. — and start to search my pockets. Grab a quarter, give it to him. He takes it, slowly puts it in his pouch — like the most delicate and valuable of objects —, kneel down to the dusty red sheet and grab a small shard of quartz, that is gifted to me.
   — Here, — he says — for good luck. Have a beautiful day, thank you very much.
    Wishing him the same, I give my hand. He takes it with a kiss, we say our goodbyes, and I go my way.

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