Really?
Those calm, delta blues don't tell me fictions.
And when you traipsed down the hall for a drink,
I did notice the sweat upon your pillowcase.
Is it hot in here,
or has that crisp Tucson humidity got your neck?
He was here;
right here on that blue chair your mother bought.
No, I'm kidding... but
if he was...
haha.
Time for a scotch myself.
Watching old rock interviews on VH1
has always been our thing.
Anything I want tonight?
I won't fight... but
why was it on BBC?
Sid Vicious?!
And I missed it?
Darling,
Did you?
Did you tape it, love?!
I knew it.
I KNEW YOU LOVED ME, BABY DOLL!
...
I think I spilled scotch on your carpet.
Too bad it's shag.
Author notes
The point wasn't to be depressing, but to present a that dark realism like you get in a film noir. The lighting and the old tv sort of did it for me. And just in case you didn't get it (because i didn't say it) the video was a scandalous recording.
A contest entry
- anti-dreams by unraveled.
750 points, ended December 18, 2008, 21 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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i like it. its some sort of conversational noir and it works here. im not sure why you used fictions instead of lies in the second line though.
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