BB Grey–musings

they fed me

words like stale crackers

through a chain-link fence

while I pissed in the gutter

and called it love

 

messages at 2 a.m.

“u up?”

and I’d crawl through broken glass

to read them

like the dog I was

 

cheap vodka and cheaper promises

that’s all they gave

while I sat naked

in a room that smelled of

last week’s takeout and desperation

 

they knew what they were doing

playing me like a scratched record

stop

start

stop

start

until the needle broke

 

I watched them do it to others

before me, after me

always the same game

always the same hollow-eyed souls

stumbling out of their web

 

there was no poetry in it

just the sound of laughter

cutting through cigarette smoke

while I puked my guts out

in some downtown bar

 

they called them the hunter

but that was too clean a word

for what they did

they were more like cancer

eating away at whatever

was still human in us

 

I survived

yeah

but sometimes at 3 a.m.

I still check my phone

and hate myself for it

 

so take my advice

or don’t

but when you see them

in that black suit, or dress

at the bar

ordering whiskey neat

run

just f ‘ ing run