or time, or mind, my bitch grows.
and I swallow her hard between swigs of
granddad and turkey.
the bartender doesn't want to entertain me
and I don’t want to go home. alone.
heat out of nostrils billows as throat closes.
I’ll probably cry.
and I’m pissed because I feel this way;
it’s only been a short while.
but I’m contemplating a 180, so I don’t have
to always rewind into the reasons of decisions
I’ll be blamed to have kept. for too long.
Leisha Nicole Stanek
Midwestern woman wandering, writing, welcoming the shared energy of humans to piece together our purpose. Collector of art, books, tattoos and men between sheets. If whiskey laced coffee were a permissible and actual form of daily hydration; tomorrow it would begin.
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