New York Nights

I don’t remember much
from the night Mad Max died. 

I remember the drool on the kitchen floor from when I fell
face down and didn’t bother putting my hands out to catch myself.
I remember Jack touched my cracked skull.
Maybe it was cracked. I can’t remember if I went to the hospital.
I remember his muddy voice said baby baby baby
in my ear and I remember breathing to him
je veux que moi sur les photos.
He doesn’t speak French. Neither do I. 

I remember burning my lips on the a*s end of a lit cigarette.
I remember tripping on a curb. Twisted ankle, crooked sidewalks.
I remember Manhattan, miles away from this Brooklyn party scene.
I remember my blonde hair was too long and my long hair was too blonde.
I remember Jack pulled it, after I slammed his back against the door of a parked car.
I remember I took a mouthful of champagne and sprayed it all over Frankie,
just because she had been a b***h all night and, for a second,
I thought I could actually breathe fire. 

I remember Max told us all that he could fly.
We didn’t believe him. He said he’d prove it. 

I don’t remember,
but I think he soared.  

Reviews

[Sapphire Dreams]

Wow, this is incredibly powerful. I don't know exactly where you got the inspiration but it is stunning. You took me with you to another place with your writing and you have amazing talent. maybe you could format it a little different to make it more effective? Either way it's a great piece of writing:)