J.C.D. Kerwin

At midnights, I’m drunk-staring,
caterwauling captions to my nightmares
and keeping ghosts from trampling down
my front door.

I’ve got that bad disease called heartache and
there’s no cure for the self-inflicted catastrophe.
I’m hopeless.
And a wreck.

Still got your number
tattooed to my eyelids so when
I close my eyes I can blink-dial your smile.
It’s better than scraping razorblades
across the photographs of us.

I’m dreaming of you
[and drowning.]
You’re not dreaming of me
[because you left me to empty bottles and worn-out recordings.]
I still remember your name.

July, 2011


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