One of those nights


-Hello?
No one answers.
It's pitch black and I can't even see my own hand.
Not that the darkness scare me,
but the fact that I’m naked startles me a bit.
Am I awake?
Or am I still asleep, I wonder.
An awkward feeling hits me and something is obviously wrong.
Overwhelmed by the situation,
I desperately try to find the light switch.
But with no immediate luck.

I stumble around for a few seconds,
before I finally find the damn thing.
[CLICK]
Where the hell am I?
What happened last night?
I was drinking of course, I know that.
That’s what I always do,
but what happened?

The apartment is small and,
I look around for clues.
There has to be a lady living here,
‘cause no man would keep a place this nice.
Silk sheets and expensive furniture.
But the thing that really gave it away,
was the flowers.

No man I know has flowers not even in plastic.
And they were pretty too.
Who is she? I wonder.
Bet she’s beautiful, she has to be!
I find my torn up clothes on the floor,
and a fifth of whiskey on the bedside table.
A couple of minutes later, I’m dressed.
Worked up a nice buzz all over again
and on my way out.

-Wonder what’ll happen this night?


Tills vidare, there's no poetry between us -said the paper to the pen.

// m

Don't call me peanut!

 
Drink up beautiful.
I spiked your cup with angst and a heart attack,
'cause I've got so much trapped
It's all because of you.
So I figured you might like some back.

And when I see her
I'll tell her what's been on my mind
all these sleepless nights.
She'll recite her excuses
Put my tail between these legs of mine
like I do all the time.
 

Tills vidare, förlåt att jag är så inaktiv.
Så fort skrivkrampen släpper sitt psykopatiska
grepp om mig och inspirationen flödar åter igen
genom mina vener och min själ så ska jag nog
få ordning på denna skitblogg så småningom. 

// m