Skip to main content

A note about prescriptive ideologies

When I tell you how to live your life,

I'm usually stoned without a shirt on,

trying to lick melted bits of chocolate off my tits.

9 out of 10 times, I'm not wearing pants.

What i'm trying to say is,

You shouldn't just take me seriously;

You should take me as a prophet

A sexy Muhammad or something.

I'm CLEARLY living the high life my friends;

So take everything I've ever said ever ever

to be the truth beyond language. know...throw me money for what I'm doing for you.


Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster


I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.

my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries

May Day

'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…