by Shannon Peil
My knees hurt, supporting the pointy weight of my elbows, supporting the dead weight of my head - cradled carefully while I piss sitting down because I am too drunk to stand. My toes hurt, from stabbing them against the aptly named kick panel of the wall as I ambled my way in here before sitting down, before realizing I needed to turn the light on if I was ever going to find my dick. That hurt too, and it's unpleasant when your dick hurts. When pissing is the biggest chore of all because you’ve got a rash on your shaft from the loneliness, when you’ve got a shiny new 10 gauge ring hanging explicitly from the head of a cock looking at you like a dog scared you’re about to beat it again. I dribble lazily for a while and when it’s over I feel relieved. Relieved
My knees hurt, supporting the pointy weight of my elbows, supporting the dead weight of my head - cradled carefully while I piss sitting down because I am too drunk to stand. My toes hurt, from stabbing them against the aptly named kick panel of the wall as I ambled my way in here before sitting down, before realizing I needed to turn the light on if I was ever going to find my dick. That hurt too, and it's unpleasant when your dick hurts. When pissing is the biggest chore of all because you’ve got a rash on your shaft from the loneliness, when you’ve got a shiny new 10 gauge ring hanging explicitly from the head of a cock looking at you like a dog scared you’re about to beat it again. I dribble lazily for a while and when it’s over I feel relieved. Relieved
enough to take comfort on the soft, dirty bathroom floor rug. Its dampness is fixed by pulling a towel from a hook to use as a pillow, and sleep.
I wake to a roommate knocking, first softly, and then noticeably annoyed. I stand and answer, before looking down and realizing I am wearing boxer-briefs and am quite obviously too inebriated to be saying hello to anyone - and it is awkward. Not only is it awkward because I'm nearly naked and swaying slightly, but because this wasn't like a friend came calling and I answered the door, no. It was more like someone had to use the head and I was passed out drunk in it. The conversation is cut short as I flush the toilet and exit hastily, retreat to the comfort of my own room where no one knocks and witnesses moments like this –occasional lapses of judgment that are becoming more frequent this year. I lie down and think about that look in his eye, the embarrassment for me that I should have been feeling but am currently unable to, and learn something from this.
I need my own place.
Shannon Peil writes more poetry about his dick than anything else and is unsure of what that means. His poetry is available on men's room walls absolutely free of charge, provided you come to Boulder, CO to read it. He also runs http://amphibi.us for no reason other than to reject work better than his.
A very good read and I love this: "When pissing is the biggest chore of all because you’ve got a rash on your shaft from the loneliness"
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