eugene,
lethargic waves tug at my conscious mind after twelve hours of sleep...an hour of life seeping into over-saturated pores.
my lips could rival the Sahara in a race of dry desolation. I could blame the lack of chap stick or the radio that doesn't play songs worth a damn anymore. truth is I'm scared that I wouldn't recognize my own voice.
in between my trips to the kitchen for coffee, and my imaginary self image; a cool artsy kid who reads intelligent books and cares about the world, I had a point.
I don't wear shorts in the summer anymore. because when we fuck, you grab too hard. and I hate the finger sized bruises you leave on my thighs. and no matter how many times I tell you, it's like you don't hear me.
so, I'll sit quietly in the corner and forget songs that I used to know...
Author notes
might edit. not sure if I'm happy with it quite yet.
A contest entry
- Favourites ONLY by Laura Lamarca.
1300 points, ended November 20, 20 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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The line about him not hearin' you. 
Make him listen. Or stop fuckin' the rough bastard until and unless he does, Sweetie. 
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Interesting...I very much enjoyed the fourth paragraph
"I don't wear shorts in the summer anymore....."
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Welcome back to ink.
enjoyed immensely.
laura.
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