Tag Archives: barfly
I called him “Bukowski”, because he wrote with the same disdain as the poet, and succumbed to all the same vices. He loved to drink, He loved to smoke, and he loved women, one in particular, me. He wrote often. … Continue reading
Last night, I was the girl in glasses, alone at a bar, with a book, which basically made me, a sitting duck. I knew this, but I had gone to hear my friend play his guitar, and I was going … Continue reading
I should probably put the pen down, because I might make a mess, but there’s a few things here, I want to confess. I just dyed my hair, because I thought I saw a random grey, I bought new jeans … Continue reading
I’d like to pay homage, to the following men, those I wish, to never see again. The one who flirted with the waitress, the one who may have been racist, the one in love with his ex, the one who … Continue reading
Blinded by Bukowski, temporarily, instead of pen, i’ll write in pencil, to ensure my words are me.