A Dancing Flame in the Winter
flickering candle breaking the darkness of midnight,
pencil gliding against the bourbon-stained pages
of ripped notebooks while more bourbon goes
from the lowball down the throat. only music the
silence
of the night, of the deserted suburban snow-covered
street. away from
everywhere and everyone, the neighbors asleep and
the candle dances under the algid breeze penetrating the
open window. plumes of blue smoke come out of
the mouth, disappear into the wilderness of the
suburb; junkies freeze under
bridges, rich people sip 35-year-old scotch in front
of crackling fireplaces, college students survive
on rye bread and children wipe their milk
mustaches right before heading to bed. I drink
some more, let the falling snow and the cold
seep into my bones, encapsulate my soul. another
smoke, yet another fifth of bourbon empty. another
cracked. it’s alright. the candle’s half-dead, few more
hours till passing out, and the notebook absorbs most
of the insane ideas engendered by the bourbon fire in
my gut.
Horror Sleaze Trash 