Tag Archives: henry chinaski

Ain’t No Sunshine

We’ve been apart for a while now. I’d lie and say I don’t remember how long it’s been, to prevent myself from appearing desperate, but I remember. The last time my hands were on you, was March 9, 2020, at … Continue reading

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Bukowski

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

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Bittersweet Symphony

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

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Fast Love

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

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Cold Play

Last Christmas, I gave him a Ninja Turtle ornament, because he invited me over, and I felt I should show up with something, besides my musical ability, and manic state. We had been impromptu jamming, on and off, for months, … Continue reading

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Blind Spot

I’d say we went from 0 to 60, but that’s a lie. 15, 30, and 45 definitely occurred. I ignored the yield sign. Where the fuck was the stop sign? Kinda thought you were a yellow light. You were red … Continue reading

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Rear View Mirror

To My Gut Instinct: You have an impeccable record. That said, I’m sorry I’ve ignored you lately. It was nothing personal, which is literally the reason I ignored you. Please remain impeccable, even if from time to time, I knowingly … Continue reading

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The Chemicals Between Us

I’m not playing hard to get, I just don’t get what you want. Though now that I’ve disappeared, You’ve suddenly reappeared.

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Earth, Wind & Fire

I am unable to write, not a good sign, especially at this, particular moment in time. I’ve been scribbling down rhymes, hating each one more than the next, considered going Carrie Bradshaw on your asses, and start blogging about sex… … Continue reading

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Blinded by Bukowski

Blinded by Bukowski, temporarily, instead of pen, i’ll write in pencil, to ensure my words are me.

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