by Gretchen Cello
I am addicted.
I wish… I should have…
I thought. You knew.
He has a girlfriend. They’re in love. A few.
I drank an eighth of gin. Popped two pills.
Non prescription.
Addictions. Construct me.
Confident.
We fucked on her side of the bed.
Cocaine swore to me.
And I ran out of money.
Like I always do.
And I started drinking.
Too much.
Like I always do.
One night.
I. Exposed. Improper. Overuse.
Like I wasn’t worth.
Telling.
His addiction is named Emily.
His addiction speaks four languages.
His addiction has all of his time.
Chopped. Three lines.
On a broken coffee table.
I compose.
You.
Loyalty.
Addicts are like that.
Gretchen Cello believes that she’s an alien hailing from the Lyra
constellation. She’s presently homeless, jobless, and sleeping on a couch
in Queens. She has a webpage that she dislikes referring to as blog, it’s
updated every day: www.FollowMeToNYC.com. You heard… every single day.
Gretchen Cello has eyes that change colours.
I fucking love the construction and unholy oomph of this poem.
ReplyDeletei love that someone said unholy oomph about the unholy oomph of this poem
ReplyDeletewow.
ReplyDelete