I tug on the end of your cigarette
until you pay attention to me.
Look at me, I'm a person,
and I love you.
You stand beside me leaning on a lamp post
and I can see the bruises on your skin,
the torn fishnets,
you're beyond tacky
but I love you so it doesn't matter.
You don't even try to impress me as it is made clear
while you go into an alleyway, pull your panties down
and squat to urinate on the already soaked and smelly floor.
The streets are your home and you'll squat anywhere.
I remember that time on the stairs when you kept me
around for another few hours,
we didn't leave an echo behind in the hall
as the small dim light flickered while we giggled our
way up the stairs.
Even then, I loved you.
I cleaned up your apartment,
cooked your food,
washed your clothes that
were always strung out all over the floor
much like your needles.
Help was out of the question.
You wouldn't hear of it.
You left stains everywhere on everything
no longer caring how you looked;
whether it was a lipstick smudge
or hair dye or some leftovers
from the night before,
you left it there, an empty reminder
of your past; the one you live.
I was there for the 28th nightmare of your life,
crossed boulevards, running to get to you,
only to find you slumped over on a bench
in a park ; and I remember wondering if you
were dead and my heart was beating so fast
and I didn't want to be the one to walk up
to you and check for a pulse, but then I came up
to you and you raised your head up with
dark bruises under your eyes and a lost look
and a tipsy smile and you said, "Hi"
You were candy, filtered in and out of me,
like holes in space, my black hole,
pulling me in to someplace unknown
'til I almost lost myself.
There are memories of you everywhere that I look,
even though I'm not around,
and who will take care of you now?
Now that I'm just another stain on your bed.
Author notes
A semi story I'm working on.
I really love this and will probably add more.
Not sure.
In a list
Comments
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I love the way you write stories. There always feels like there's so much reality in them. The emotions feel so real and tragic.
The way that you can love and care about people without judging them really shows through in your writing. I love you for that. I love that I know you're there for me no matter how much I fuck up and I'm sure everyone else loves that too.
You're amazing.
<3
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I love this. It ties in with your other stories. You know, I've met people who were that far gone that they simply do not care. They live any way and any how. Doing whatever it is that they please. These people fall through the cracks of society and do not care for a world that does not care for them. They pay them no mind, unless its to toss a few dollars at them, a man needing a quick fix, or a sympathetic saint doing their good deed for the day. I feel for these people, minds so fixated on what comes next for them, to feel that rush, to feel alive again. Something to chase away the pain. They're dead, only reanimated from fix to fix.
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i always wanted to befriend someone like this, like truly find a best friend like this because as painful as it is, its beautiful
i suppose im strange but i have an open heart and love all kinds of people, even if i can't save them =/
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