Showing posts from July, 2019

Last Night’s Makeup

Last night’s makeup is caked around my eyes, there's a mascara ring of fire as I brush away my remorse. I exhale to the universe, my breath reeks late night chore boy and foil. Greeting the new day, I slam my hand against the alarm clock. My roommates are long gone. I’m the fuck up who gives everyone pause. Surprisingly, I got my pants off before the Xanax hit me. My "friend" at the bar knew I had been on a teensy crack binge (among other things).If I let him rub my thigh and pretend I'm interested, he's a generous person. His breath smells like Newports and rotten garbage. He leaned in for a kiss as I turned sideways. Such is life. It’s 7:45 am. I have to be at my  job at 9 to open. My plan is to sleep with my head on the desk in between customers, like nap time in kindergarten. “I just want to rest my eyes for a minute” is what I’ll tell the fresh faced teenager whom I will need to cover for me today. I also have a few buy one get one free coupons I will use w

Watch you Smoke

The first time I injected anything into my veins, I was 20 years old. In the summertime, I’d get a rash because my thighs would rub together. I’d smother myself in baby oil, hoping to get a tan line around my mint shorts. Or my weathered swimsuit. I’d lay on the lawn chair in the backyard until the cicadas started chirping and the neighbor would fire up the weed whacker over the sound of the evening news. West Chester was the type of place where you could ride your bike to the end of the dead end  street to poke a stick at a dead raccoon. It’s face slowly decomposing with the passing of the last humid days of summer. I’d pull up my comforter to sleep curled up on top of the air conditioning vent, remaining completely oblivious to the fact that in a few years I will no longer have a place to call home. In the long nights, kids who “know better” pass joints of weed they got from a wooden box hidden in their dad’s underwear drawer. A wedding will be the first place you will get a sip