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Everybody's got somebody

I know you're probably

nice and warm all huddled

close with your BABY 

while you coo sweet

stupid Nothings in

her lovely little ears

I know everybody's got

somebody tonight to

keep them warm 

to kiss in the snow

You know what I got?

I got a shit ton of weed

And a loving right hand.

I don't quite know which is better.

I suspect finger banging by a lover

probably beats coughing up

smoke and tar companions 

But I don't have to worry about

looking pretty because a joint

doesn't have eyes to critique me.


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'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…