Tagged: grunge

ibiza__1

ibiza, 2015

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1

chasing one little baby tick of unblackened weed around the rim of the pipe, warm in my bone-cold fingers: cold white light and me here on this dingy old velvet couch listening to the boys in AIDS’s bedroom pretending it’s a real gym. they listen to eminem a little too much, but i won’t givem shit for it.

genezareth and hannah are considering busking on a corner on weekends; seabass was turned down for a resto job due to his lack of a work visa; bethany was selling Christmas cards for a euro apiece; i was considering selling knit caps, AIDS and I have discussed becoming regional camgirls.

we are sort of brutally poor, but we do our bestish. combat creeping depression with routines and rituals: open the shutters every morning and close them up every night, go for hikes, go for runs, do pullups and pushups and abs, chat together in the sparsely-furnished kitchen all squattin on buckets and low stools on the ground. we are all in balls deep for bernie sanders.

written fall-winter 2015. entry 1 of a series.

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SWEATY BALLS

i think
the most pain i felt
through all of that
were those two nights
where you slept
fully clothed,
in your sticky t-shirt and your
nylon shorts all clinging
to your hairy thighs and your
sweaty balls in the
sweltering heat

you laid face down with
your head turned away and
for those two days you didn’t
shower

you slept
with your arms wrapped
tight around your
chest and you wouldn’t
come closer to
me so I laid there
near but not too near
staring at the
ceiling terrified
i’d bother you
terrified
i’d lose you
knowing
you were already
lost.