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  • sheismore 199w

    Whitney

    there were whispered secrets behind the sunbeams of your eyes...


    It's somehow brighter in the room. The kitchen is cluttered with bottles turned ashtrays and half-empty cans of PBR. Scattered here and there are crushed cans of Pong beer and overturned bottles of Jack. There are two teenage girls crashed out in my living room, sent to protect me from myself...no doubt Cigarette ashes are littering my sofa and my recliner has seen better days. "But I'm breathing," I think.

     I'm lighting a Camel Crush and pouring a shot of tequila. It's 8 a.m and friends are dropping in to borrow a little black dress. For a funeral, maybe? But i really can't say.

     I've not really been myself since you left. Kind of tossed about from here to there. I toss the shot and take a draw. The shaking in my hands stop and the fog in my head clears. 

    "I don't have anyone to answer to now..." I start my morning pep talk. "I don't have to be held back anymore..." It always ends the same. Fuck it, i say and throw back another shot. 

    I don't even like tequila, i note, half-heartedly, to myself. There's bacon frying in a half cleaned pan and my coffee is brewing. I pour a glass of Peach Wine as i wait.


    ©sheismore

  • sheismore 199w

    Unbroken Wing

    It was the unbroken wing that stunted her flight.


    the tiny droplets of self doubt.


    those self-deprecating words that only she could hear.


    failure is never quite an option here


    wingspans that hang shadowy clouds


    above feathers of tar and mud.



    It was the unbroken wing that stunted her flight...


    ©sheismore

  • sheismore 199w

    The Story of You

    Or

    Trouble Looked Inviting

    It was the summer of twenty ten and I was old enough to know she was trouble...

    But I was on fly by the seat of my pants kind of freedom.  A Be Free Mentality I hadn't seen in years. The previous year hadn't been kind to me. The following summer I had watched my childhood dreams shatter with three broken bones in my ankle. I was going through a strange sort of break up, more like losing a friend, when my cousin's "accidental" shot to the head occurred. I don't know that it was so much his death as the vast comparison to my eldest brother. And the deep emotional scars seemed to surface from beneath the skin. There was a lot of drinking...A LOT of Drink-Ing.  

     Anyway, I digress...I had just been released from a 72 hour psychiatric hold the week before I met her. Somewhere in the mix of things, my dear mother had deemed me suicidal and hence I was locked away for sometime. poked and prodded and overwhelmingly annoyed by it all. It was somewhere within those three days that the freedom began to bubble up in my belly. I would drink what I wanted, fuck who I wanted, smoke what I wanted and do what I wanted. 

     I've never necessarily been the best behaved of my mother's children, not quite as in line as the rest. not quite as polite or apologetic as the rest...i wanted the freedom of a train tracks in the middle of the night and the Cumberland River's chill on my naked flesh. Boredom was too much and trouble looked inviting...



    ©sheismore

  • sheismore 199w

    Of Death and Dying

    "Best green this side of Nicco's Laundr-o-mat," She says and smiles. I light a cigarette and look away. Searching for immortality in the trunk of my car. Eternal sunshine on a not so spotless mind. Guilt ridden. Angst ridden and desperate for attention. "Smile." Some kind of advice I suppose. "No Tears," he says And looks away. Blood shot eyes. Smell of Southern Comfort licking his breath. Death comes easily. It's immortality that's tough. Lifeless hull. "it's not really her," they say. "She's at peace." "Bullshit." He says and I nod. A crow caws in the distance. A horn honks. The leaves rustle in the trees. Hawthorn and Hemlock Juice. Desperate measures for desperate times. Deep breath. Inhale. "Count to 10," I think. 10 seconds. no change. I cry. Not aloud. In the shattered cells of a darkened soul. Cold. I shiver. Beautiful. Tragic beauty. Like Aphrodite, so says Alfie at least. Perfection at first glance. "I'm one of those girls," she says, "that they write rock songs about." Green fairies and Bohemian thought. Look at me, through tired and glossy eyes. The greatest minds of a generation. Lost In space, perhaps. Jumping hurdles in the darkness. Like Brick. Tennessee Williams tapping into my head. Keep running until you fall. Dressed in Black. Chains and silver studs. She looks down. Blue eyes closed against the pains of a Not So Perfect World. "A black hole is essentially a burnt out star." Like Sleeping beauty. But not Mr. Disney's. No Prince to chase away the Dragons. A silent row. Holly Golightly dressed in Black. Flashes of a dark haired Messiah. Not Jesus, not a Jew. A perfect patron of Rome. Set jaw. Irish. I shake my head and yawn. Silent. Shaking. Purple lips. Like a flashback sequence in a Tarantino film. Smoke rings in a black light trance. Look away. Doing Trainspotting lines in the darkness. Haunting screams. And the sounds of fading life. Look away. "Don't look!" She says. A marbles statue shattered. A last work of art. Sirens. Blue and Red. Tattered remains. An empty shell. "She's gone." They say. And I whimper. The fluttering wings of a lost bird Crackle inside my mind. Somewhere within I shiver. I jerk. I cry. Silent and Unseen. "Let me stay," he says and Pete Droge whirls against the coming night. Dawn happens. Fast. The Aurora spreads it's wings. "Death comes fast," they say. "Only the good die young." Clich quips of comfort to sooth an aching soul



    ©sheismore

  • sheismore 199w

    Shelter Me

    I am lost here in this outpost

    Torn down by the world to which I was born.

    Reaching out to the numbness of your scars.

    Pleading to the gods of the underworld to replace my soul with the rib of my rib

    The heart of my heart. Ripped out and bare upon the naked ground.

    A writhing mess to be pitied in the absence of your touch.

    A simple chaotic Notion of forever

    That will divide us or unite us


    And yet still I stand against the tornadic winds of the old south

    The poetic crimes of a good ole boy

    Thought and train derailing

    In the night.


    I will stand still forever as once I promised in the distant haze of drink and drug

    The immovable object to your

    Unstoppable force.


    Shatter me with the winds of the gods or shelter me from fall.



    ©sheismore

  • sheismore 199w

    Battling the Mirror

    The Devil in my veins cries out for release. It wants blood and fire and my soul. It caves around the nothingness of an aging face.  Time is not your friend when your reflection makes you claw At laugh lines and crow's feet around the eyes. 

    I tell myself it's the battle scars of an extraordinary existence. 

  • sheismore 199w

    "Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough."

    There was too much time

    Between the faith in your eyes

    And the end.

    Catapulting into the eternal demise

    Of fire and smoke and dry ice

    I turn away from the longing within

    The chords that bind me to you

    And I find your fear hidden beneath

    The chaos.

    An imaginary strength covers the lot of you. Hidden in the collapsing roof of what once was.

    I reach out to the emptiness and find the ashes of a summer love.

    Gone hideously astray.

    Your voice haunts my dreams and so I surmise that sleep is the enemy and I pour a shot and stare blankly into the

    Darkness of the room.


    ©sheismore

  • sheismore 199w

    Unfortunate Fairytales

    it was bedside Bibles and continental breakfast on the fly...


    "I wouldn't call it ideal," I say and you look away at the sound of my voice, "But in the grand scheme of it all...it is what it is." I light a smoke and look down at the disheveled sheets. I look at you and you're searching me for a reaction. "It's an unfortunate, fairytale." It's more to myself than to you. But your lips are quivering and theres a moment...wherein i freeze at the coarseness of your voice.

     

     "i got wet when i saw him."


    It was a fairytale built on Hotel Bibles and Cum Stained Sheets

     




    ©sheismore

  • sheismore 199w

    Redneck James Dean, border whores and rock gut whisky

    i'm suppose to be lost in you

    but there's this redneck
    James Dean character
    at the side
    and his hand is on my ass.
    You're smiling through the
    faded lights of this state line bar
    and
    I'm killing rock gut whiskey
    from a repurposed Bottle
    and lighting a smoke.  

     Everything about my surroundings are wrong.
     I take a drink
    and chase it down
    with James Dean's Bud Light.  
    You're on the dance floor with your hands on a "border whores" breast
    and some over-styled douche
    grinding into your ass.  

      I lean into my
    Redneck Rebel Without A Cause
    his arm tightens around me.
     He towers over me
    My pathetic 5'6" frame
    he's looking down at me.  
    With his freckled face and his unbrushed hair. 

     I smile for the Sake of smiling
    and he turns away.  
    Back to his canned beer and battle buddy grins...

    ..I imagine he feels secure...in us.
    There's a half of moment there
    And I'm considering
    2 1/2 kids
    With his hair and
    My eyes

    But your voice... seems to halt it all
    and your fingers are wrapping around mine.

    tugging me away
    and into a gravel lot.
    Your mouth is wet and hot against mine.
    The taste of oaked bourbon and budlight on your tongue.  

    You're shoving me back
    And
    Down

    Lost in the scent of you
    And...

    Me


     You never wanted to go home and I never wanted to sleep without you. 


    ©sheismore
    @writersnetwork
    #writingdrunk #pastlife #closets

  • sheismore 200w

    Cement Eyes

    I found a piece of glass in your cement eyes

    weathered and smoothed, as if by winds and wear

    A tiny particle of a soul that once existed.

    thrived and lived freely among the stars