The basement smelled like damp carpet and stale beer.
Peeling paint curled from the walls like forgotten letters.
I sat at the desk with pen and paper.
A bottle of absinthe, sweating in the dim light.
Van Gogh stared back at me from the label, his eyes wild,
full of madness.
Madness I understood all too well.
Jagged, vivid swirls of chaos.
Poor fucking Vincent.
Jenny came over that night,
scandalous and dangerous,
disturbing my solitude, my sanctuary.
She’s a street woman with eyes like broken streetlights
and a soul like a feral cat.
All I wanted was to write.
All she wanted was more meth.
The bottle of absinthe shimmered between us,
green liquid sloshing like broken thunder.
She said, hey, if you get me a motel, I’ll give you head.
We walked to the cheap rat hole on Federal Avenue.
Neon halos bleeding into rain slick asphalt.
The room was like a coffin, fluorescent lights buzzing.
I carried my pen and paper like a shield.
All I wanted was to craft the word, the line,
my way through this silly, twisted world.
All she wanted was escape from the streets.
Her laughter sliced through the quiet,
like shattered glass.
I woke up hours later,
phone gone, wallet missing,
room spinning like a carnival freak,
head pounding like a bass drum,
the bottle of absinthe with just a spider of liquid left,
its green ghost fading into the ghastly light.
The world outside didn’t give a fuck,
just another morning in the blitzkrieg I called life.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 1st, 2026 07:35
- Comment from author about the poem: I just dropped a new poetry video on YouTube words read out loud, no polish, no net: https://www.youtube.com/watch?vLEQlkNVsIQA My books are on Amazon if you want more. https://www.amazon.com/stores/Thomas-W.-Case/author/B0CL2RKDGX?refsr
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Teddy.15, rebellion_in_sanity, aDarkerMind
Offline)
Comments8
Beware of Jenny's baring gifts.
Many a guy has seen her go down.
Many never reached the point of blow.
Jenny knows men think with their balls, and it stands to reason they're going to fall.
lol. Exactly. Thanks, Paul.
This has a very noir feel to it Thomas and as for Jennies they always go for Jacks and personally I don't care for either type of donkey. In all seriousness Thomas a gritty and hard hitting read a fave
Thank you, my friend.
You are most welcome Thomas
Excellent! That absinthe bottle threading the scenes together really anchors the poem. It becomes a witness to intent, distraction, and fallout, quietly charting the collapse without commentary. Strong, deliberate use of image, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you, my friend.
You are most welcome, my friend!
I once tried Absinthe in Prague, I blame that! 🤣 Wonderful Poetry my sweet Thomas. 🌹
Lol. Thanks, sweet Teddy.
Damn! Another party I missed out on.........!
Great grisly write, Thomas.
Thanks, my friend.
So good to be reading this. It tempers the affinity with his post-impressionism and influence on expressionism. Bravo, Thomas🕊️🙏🤩
Thank you.
Much Welcome
This somehow reminded me of Lawrence. The desperation in reaching out and the ache of not being able to touch it. A fave.
I appreciate it. Thank you.
pure class Thomas...
what more can I say?
this world has been gifted many great poets,
and you my friend,
are up there with the best of them.
Thank you, my friend.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.