The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 3 - Page 42

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That gets slammed in your face

All that’s left are the bruises

On your body from accidents

Waiting to happen

I suppose the least we can do in this life

Is to always remind one another

That there will always be bruises

That there will always be death

But that we will always be there for one another

Despite our weirdness

Despite all the ghosts 

If we try hard enough for one another

Even the bad times can seem cozy

So when I got home 

I was feeling better than I have

In a very long time and I get a selfie

From some art student on Tinder

Showing off her tits in front of a mirror

They looked alright as all tits do

Then suddenly I heard eight gun shots

I went outside to have a cigarette

And the moon was doing its usual

Song and dance like some minstrel show

Of glowing indifference, then there were

Spotlights in my backyard, then there were

Cop cars circling my blockand I knew

Someone had died, was shot dead

And I thought who cares who fills

The void next to me in bed

Cause there are no beds buried beneath the dirt

And then I heard the chirping

Of those goddamn birds

And I knew that it was all some cruel joke

That revelation was jerking 

My halfhearted cockand I wondered

What the hell it takes for us to be filled

How long must we drag empty bathtubs

Across deserts of severed human hands