Longest Weekend Ever

She broke me in two

dropped the shards
inside a 26-ouncer,
washing me down like
a bottle of uppers

simultaneously
taking in the sunburn
of another man’s
attention.

Meanwhile, my sentences
stutter (holy
fuck I must be drunk);
treading liquor neck high-
did she
push me or did I jump?

I’m usually not
so clumsy but when
you’re always
gunning it, it’s painfully
obvious,
how hard it is
controlling your mouth
if you’re
always running it
at top speed.

That thing is
like an engine, it needs
to cool
down, sweetie.

Am I
your rock
or rock bottom,
the safety on
your gun or
the bullet obsessed with
hitting something ironic?

Are you my
benefit or cost,
my masterpiece or
mock-up?

Should we walk
free or spend three
days locked up?

I’m too
fucked up to
answer honestly
anymore.

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3 thoughts on “Longest Weekend Ever

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