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Torch Song In A Minor (a poem)

Owl page art by BlackBaroque via Etsy edited by A. Alexander

Lying awake and still.

Studying the patterns of

a flickering cityscape.

I can smell the night transform

into the hazy rush of day.

I do some of my best worrying

while in the dark.

Anxiousness eats away at my

once manicured nail beds.

My mind drifts upwards and sideways

against the brick walls of my existence.

I love too hard and too frequently.

But thats my cross to bear.

I can hear the nightbirds sing against

a symphony of roaring vehicles

going nowhere fast.

And all I can do is wish

that I were the wheels-

-In motion and

necessary for travel.

Instead I lay comfortably

uncomfortable under blankets that

catch all my prayers like Gods own

seductive fishnet stockings

This is my torch song in A minor.

A haunting little ditty I wrote

while disillusioned.

I came, I saw, I crumbled

in three acts narrated by God herself.

And all I have to show for it is a black

lace bra and bruises on my vocal cords.

An old man once told me,

love is like a cheap whore in

an expensive evening gown.

its pure filth draped in mans design..

I asked him not to speak of

his mother that way.

He laughed and took his last breath.

All I ever needed was

someone to laugh at my jokes

and tell me I'm pretty,

light my cigarette

in the pouring rain

and catch me falling stars

when I loose faith in love.

But some songs are meant

only for the birds to sing

and so i'll blow my sorrows

out into the wind hoping

that they land on the beak of

a hummingbird with some nerve.

And perhaps

that song will come back to me

In the form of a stranger

who knows too much

with dark hair and a fervent touch.

Funny how the whiskey tastes

better from a strangers lips.

Its sweeter and

exactly what you want

but never what you needed

Oh girl…

...I see you've got it bad.

Pull yourself together,

you've got more singing to do.

Now pucker those lips and

push on through


thats what real women do.

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