Confessions

In a cab, unknown driver begging the question “where to?”

Cheap lipstick in one hand and broken stilettos in the other

 Because they were too expensive for the night I had.

I am hung over

Like an alcoholic on his third day sober, but I can’t stop the nausea coming in waves or the bruises on my skin like flames from my embarrassment.

I don’t remember.

I can’t answer because vodka and gin were mixed in

With

Addiction, and for a moment police sirens ring in my head and I wonder if it’s God’s way of reaching out to a sinner.

If hand cuffs are the precursor to dinner

Or am I the only one still eating that Apple?

Convincing you was hard enough but

Did you ever wonder exactly what,

We could have been without that stuff

Or sober am I not enough?

“Where to?”

And I tell him the only address I meant to,

“House of God”

Poetic Confession, number two.

Comments

lizardoa21

Beautiful piece the last few lines were so amazingly powerful they completly brought your piece together. What inspire you to write this?

RiaBarrett2000

I was actually responding to a challenge on the site's fb page. But as I was writing it, I felt so compelled to drive it in a certain direction. Poetry is a confession from the writer, you just have to be patient enough to listen.

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