Andrew_Tortora's profile

She read, aloud, her favorite verse of poetry; the one that makes me weep, A lovely little piece by Bukowski, vulgar to the point of sincerity, It described the human condition with such clarity. The din of the street below drown her words out So they leapt from her mouth, soundless, spelling their name out in The drug-begotten fog which had begun to fill the room. I took a long drag of my cigarette and was insistent that she cease speaking But her words were persistent in taking shape within...

Today I was six people. All relative to different times And different faces, and though The places may have changed the Smells all stayed the same. The ineradicable scent of burnt Marijuana and manufactured Tobacco resting deep within my Clothes and nestled in your hair; Overpowering the fragrant aroma Your conditioner leaves behind. Sitting in each darkened room I Felt the smoke engulf me, and Imagined that fog could by Act of providence baptize me. Making me one with the other Five Andrews....

The child walks so gracefully Along the jagged edge. They do Not see I bear witness to this Memory lodged inside their Head. High up on the rocks I smoke Myself closer to death. Another Wasted six dollars on a habit I’ve Grown to detest. I imagine myself a king, yet I feel more like a fool. An inane Ruler governing over a society of Frauds and hypercritics. They bow and curtsey for my favor With a look of disdain in their eyes. So only my scorn will they find. For if they receive any charity ...

I lay outside naked and shivering Covered in sunspots. Detoxicing From the over priced make up That seeped into my skin. My stomachs filled with poorly Distilled liquor. I can’t see straight Who knows if I’ll even make it to The door. Why won’t you dance for me, Beauty queen? Just forget what You think is right, and put on A little show… A little show just for me, yeah I’m selfish enough to ask for That much.