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Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
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Friday, November 25, 2011

fake it 'til you make it

sure, tilt head back and laugh, [then zip quick flows her blood,]
like the world's all aglow, [like she's not tripped up by knots.]
it hangs, casual mocking, from your slender, fine wrist,
she's staring, she's wondering, when you'll venture a sip.

stretch hours to drain, her mouth's parched, desert dry,
you easily rise, brush past, not gracing an eye.
it stands lovely and lush, half full, crimson mead,
ah, fantasy sting, flushing hot, gulping speed.

squat on firm, flattened hands, invisible gun to her brain,
so pretty in pink, no-one feels her insane.
"martinelli's?", they bend, irritatingly kind,
"CIDER'S FOR KIDS!", vomit screech, swirling cesspool inside.

ricochet bottle vino, from laid table to floor,
shattered, shimmering diamonds, red-blood soaked, gimme more.
crawling low, so familiar, terra firma of shame,
lapping, sucking, drops of cutting, yes, glorious pain.

but this floor's sterile clean, like stiff hospital gown,
still it stands halfway sloshing, but now breathe you empty crown.
fragmented heart, (sigh), reigned by blue, cloudless sky,
unburdened moment of peace, feign, girl, 'til you fly...

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