The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 3 - Page 25

20

Cock Cousins Disappearing in the Rust Belt

When There's No One Else Left to Fuck

by Justin Karcher

Last night an ex slapped me hard across the face

We were at a bar and I was blacked out

A friend told me about it in the morning

Apparently I asked for another

That’s the kind of lover I am

I’m also a high-functioning alcoholic

At least I don’t have delirium tremens

I think that’s the problem with America

It has stopped drinking

And it’s experiencing severe alcohol

Withdrawal symptomsall that shaking

Confusion and hallucinationsit’s scary out there

It’s like what Oscar Wilde said

“They’ve promised that dreams can come true

But forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too”

My worst nightmare is a bunch of my ex-lovers

Crowdfunding a strip club to mock me

Where they showcase their squiggles of bones at my expense

Where some high-profile DJ in a star-studded booth spins records

Of my greatest drunk voicemails, when I’m crying like a whale

With a bomb in its mouth, blubbering about my failures

How I miss you, how I’m a fuck-up, how I drink too much,

How I can’t stop, how I’ll never stop, oh the first-world humanity…

My worst nightmare is all my ex-lovers taking off their skins

While dancing to the rhythm of my lowest moments

And all I can do is sit and watch

And make testosterone smoothies out of rocks, car parts and glass

Cause I need to toughen up, cause I think I’m still in love

With every shipwreck in the Great Lakes

And that means I gotta get ice crystals in my blood

And freeze over like the greatest men in American history

Hopeless nautical robots drowning their sorrows in drink and sex

(Cont.)