Monday Night Poetry #9

Published by

Ben Bon

I still see your face when I look in the mirror

I still laugh alone

my bones are cold

and getting older

the mid-twenties are a waiting game

looking for a savior

to change my behavior

I’m too close to thirty to relax

I survive off of salami sandwhiches

and black and white television

I watch reruns of the news

and listen to country music and blues

Willie Nelson is my alarm clock

KILL ME I cry a little too often

I proclaim it is a sign of learning

I don’t know how the days slip through my fingers

like spilled milk and butterflies

I gave up looking for you

I think you will find me if you want to

My charms work well on virgins

but hell will be uncomfortable, I’m certain

tired and useless I use my heroin

it makes me sharp as a butterknife

that I use to cut my bread

I have walked through generations unsuspected

I have read my own words from the 1800s

I was scared out of town

6’10 with an old friend who burned incense in the bathroom

I stole cookies to feed my ego

and I still haven’t let go of a growing weight problem

I am the tiniest man I have ever met

I play cards with a cricket on Sunday afternoons

so no harm done

or maybe it just hurts a little too much

to stand up on my stool

brush my teeth

comb my hair that I am losing along with my mind

and look at you

old ocean lighthouse

-B.B

I still l