Placebo Dream

Jaxxie

I lost my head still-drunk on saline, joining

my words like a son-of-a-bitch—He knows

I'm a sore loser, pegging my words still-thrown

in a ditch—I burn-my bible pages out of spite

you know (whiskey not to blame)—O' lord 

of bile, fire-and-horror (I didn't catch the name)—

beads-of-sweat reflecting blood, but still I don't

see red—I'm a sore loser (losing) still licking

off the thread—gun-in-my-mouth and it's

not my metal (fingers, spit, grime)—anthologies

of poetry (I'll never read) next to the train—(anyone

know the time?)

I haven't lived-my (life) under

seashells, or become one-with-the-storm—I still

have never touched saline spray, or killed over

(two of) thorns—sand shooting up my-nose

like (medicine), I hardly feel a thing—trigger-happy

books of men, reminiscing about—(spring?) 

Asking of antique people, sewn with (neurons,

stars):

 

I must ask you don't read my-eyes, and before 

you call me a bitch, help me find my bed—

 

resting now, dead as fish, I think I've lost my

 

 (head)

  • Author: J.D (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 29th, 2023 01:36
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 7
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Comments +

Comments2

  • 2781

    Possibly.

    • Jaxxie

      Possibly, what?

    • aDarkerMind

      one for the archives here.

      superb.

      • Jaxxie

        many thanks



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