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