Issue |
 |
January |
|
a poem by xTx (1 of 2)
What Happens
my hands are like sandpaper
or those grasses that cut you like
sharp paper
should you stroke them in one,
very wrong,
direction.
i have heinous bruises on the insides
of my knees
like i was riding a mechanical bull,
hands free
drunk off three dirties, 2 liquid cocaines and
a sip of a beer from a guy who looked like
the Dread Pirate Roberts.
i have sore spots on my fingers from splinters
and torn cuticles
and ripped fingernails
down
to
the
quick
because obviously
i was moving furniture this weekend
or
getting hate fucked
and that's just what happens as a result
of one,
both,
or the other.
or those grasses that cut you like
sharp paper
very wrong,
direction.
of my knees
like i was riding a mechanical bull,
hands free
a sip of a beer from a guy who looked like
the Dread Pirate Roberts.
and torn cuticles
and ripped fingernails
i was moving furniture this weekend
or
getting hate fucked
and that's just what happens as a result
both,
or the other.