worthless

I’m throwing up in the alley,
while the whore has my cock in her mouth
and i can’t remember how i got there;
leaning over to ask who she is
what is she doing?
here it is, the days passing,
the hours peeling away
like the dead skin around scabs.
and what do I feel?
betrayal and injustice;
hypocrisy of the highest order
She tells me she felt like I needed it.
She was right; I did.
She told me that I could sleep
in her studio if I wanted.
I asked if she had a studio
why were we in the alley?
I woke up in silk sheets
and my tongue was thick
with last night’s delirium.
The bartender exacerbates the wounding;
each anesthetic sip frees my mind
from the lashing of those white stockings
under her stained red shorts;
I demanded the glass stay half full
and now he complies …
She made me coffee, said I would be ok.
She said she didn’t have anyone else
for the rest of the afternoon
and i could stay as long as I liked.
Thanks, I said. I don’t mean to be any bother.
she told me to lay back down;
that I was her only priority
and if she didn’t bother,
she would want to die.
I drink until I can laugh
at the asphyxiation of my heart.
I pour drink after drink down my throat
in the hopes that collectively,
they will suffocate the flame
that keeps my heart blazing.
The bartender asks if everything is OK.
I asked if she wanted to get married.