Down My Throat

Angiest
Selfie. A. Granheim 2017

Misery is like cough syrup,
sticky, cherry, sweet with a slight gagging feeling at the end. Misery is my middle name, my confident, my one and only true friend. I always know that I can count on him.

When I was just a girl we played together, Mysery and I. He held my hand when I was scared and comforted me as the years went by. We are still close friends. I hold onto him because he is as familiar to me as your empty promises. You left me hanging.
You could have called me back.
I thought you were such a cool guy, turns out you were so fucking whack. I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean that.

I fell so in love with you. Your black bandana tied around your wrist, your skateboard, your hair, your shoes. Vans. In L. A. we wear Chucks. Not you though, you never did want to be like the others. You left me just like the others. I wish you would have proved me wrong. Nothing Less, just like your favorite song. There must be something in the Atmosphere, in the 612, I never see you anymore around here.

I look up once in a while when I’m walking in Venice beach, and there are times when I believe that I have seen you. Dogtown coffee, Zephyr, warm Venice nights. You were Always West Of Lincoln, A.W.O.L. for life. Life is sure a funny thing, you never know what tomorrow will bring, or who will leave and walk away, apparently nothing left to say. Making love out of nothing at all. We had absolutely nothing at all. What a great imaginary story. This was the story of us. I’m still stumbling home thinking about you.

I never once loved you.

Josies on a vacation far away.

I will shove those words down my throat as if we were once again in the backseat of your cousins car in Minneapolis, lush parking lot, that never happened. You must be crazy to think that I could ever have loved you. I must have been crazy to have thought that I loved you too. And here I am, almost 5 years later, still writing poems about you. You meant nothing to me, no impact at all. You never once could have caught me, first you would have to make me fall.

For you.

Salt is my favorite flavor other than you.
Hands around my neck.
Words down my throat.
I hope you are OK.
I just wanted you to know.

Angiest

Written by

Angiest

Los Angeles based writer. I fall in love easily with people and words.

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