Behind The Antique Lamp Store Owned By The Greeks

A soda can

filled with whiskey.

A squalid alley

behind the antique lamp store owned by the Greeks.

A mattress

with the lingering scent

of urine.

A good night's rest

for a weary boy.

 

A snort of the can

and my back

supine on the springs.

My shadow on the sky.

My reflection in the stars.

 

The deathly night

haunts me

with images of who I became,

and to where I can lead.

 

My shoes for a pillow.

My face painted

with the grime of the day.

My eyes slammed open

as the grime on my cheeks

begins to moisten and run.

A trail of dirt mascara

rivers down

the cracks in my face.

 

Another snort of the can.

Another pull of the whiskey,

supine on the springs

and the stars

could care less.

 

Internal vacancy

feels like a dry heave.

I wretch my stomach

to purge these pains in me

yet nothing comes up,

just sputum,

and it pains me to heave what isn't there.

 

The lights in the building

flicker dark.

The night dies,

and dies again.

 

There's a girl of my passions

in one of those rooms,

I know.

There has to be.

She's awake, yet sleeping,

awaiting

to arise from her slumber

and join me

on my piss-soaked mattress

in this squalid alley

behind the antique lamp store owned by the Greeks.

 

A pull of the can

and I lay supine.

The stars are laughing

at me.

They glimmer

in mockery.

These bones are

beat

 

and now

I fade to the shadows of sleep.

Reviews

[Sparrow]

I wonder what she looks like and what she's doing...