You Can Get Addicted to a Certain Kind of Sadness

It tastes like day-old sugar sucked off a bent silver spoon.
It tastes like cold bacon grease off a big black skillet.
It tastes like ketchup off the shiny side of the knife.
It tastes like licking the carpet clean after someone
else’s dancing shoes.

I’ve got heel imprints on the edges of my knees.
I’ve got tomorrow’s calendar pages stuck in my throat.
I’ve got a ring that doesn’t fit over my knuckle.
I’ve got a shortage of soap and water to wash
away what’s left.

You said that we would still be friends.
You said sugar honey baby drink your coffee.
You said nobody’s got nothing going under the table.
You said this is all I ever wanted and nothing more.
You said you said you said.

And now you’re just somebody that I used to know.
And now you’re sitting there in the corner.
And now you’re ordering another cup of sweet cream coffee.
And now you’re finding a hair in your piece of big life pie.
And now I’ve got you covered, baby.
And now I’ve paid your bill in full.
And now I’ve got your sadness all wrapped up.
It tastes like licking a tinfoil swan full of
lukewarm whatever’s left.



Image taken with iPhone.
Words written on the big black couch, 10:30pm. Playing with the poetry technique, anaphora.
Time Taken 10 minutes?
Brain on underdrive

This entry was published on March 18, 2012 at 9:47 pm and is filed under March, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: