top of page
Search
  • Anxious Poets Society
    • May 1, 2019
    • 1 min read

boozey boys


jameson was a regular around our home since he was easier to swallow than the truth of growing apart. he was just as familiar as i was with every scar on your body.

i loved being the person that gets called at 1:47am to shovel your jack oozing body into my passenger seat even if it only meant 3 minutes of coherent conversation with you.

you’d mosey your way from the bar to the couch to my bed in a pathetic manner keeping your bourbon in tact, yet upchucked your intentions on my mattress.

i’ve never seen you drunk but I always feel drunk when i’m with you beer and cigarettes linger the leather cut into my soul and for a moment i felt euphoria

 

Marissa is a student at Hunter College in New York City studying Creative Writing who firmly believes in the power of writing to help alleviate psychic pain.

#truth #scar #body #drunk #soul #moment #euphoria

20 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

I. Your skin is wet paste sticking to a hospital wristband Under an empty wide gaze that sees nothing. Though I imagine how pretty you must look With your friends at the park, Lying on a picnic table,

blank paper sheets waiting to be filled on the study table, she picked her pen up every ink burst’s her spell word by word, she started weaving kingdom—her utopia. before her eyes, an ethereal scenery

More powerful than a locomotive, able to leap reality in a single bound, it’s a nuclear bomb, it’s a super computer: it’s the age-old strain of virulent addiction. Once in its ravenous and raptor claw

bottom of page