Drunk As Hell Poem by Genevieve Surrender
Drunk As Hell
Dreamscape
Soundless voices
Silent music
His shirt is tucked.
His belt is studded.
His pants are sloppy.
Clash.
He wraps his lips
around the 'I'
'L'
'Y'
Drunk as hell.
He spoke to me.
Drunk as hell.
Is how I remember him.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
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4/25/2024 3:02:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
this poem could be written by every gal who ever knew me. i'm sure when i'm older that might become sad to me. but until then, i'll wear it as a badge of honour. i like this one. good on ya, Erica. Jake