.92

the floor was stickier than usual

the patrons crazier 

& rowdier

than i'd witnessed of late

the air was thick with fratboy cologne

and the stench of bulimia

there was groping

violence wafted overhead

add drunken beauty 

to that cocktail 

and there we were

wasted and happy

.91

all the poetry 

got me the girl.

who turned out 

not to be real.

i thought 

she was young,

and wise beyond her years.

i thought 

i was old enough 

to know better.

i was wrong twice.

she was a pro.

while i - oppressed - 

had simple 

amateur status.

she was 

a death wish.

i was 

a trick.

this truth - her truth

was hidden by an

exterior swathed in knock-off linen

and tiffany-like c.z.s

intended for mere deception—

her natural state of being.

i couldn't see straight,

and that was on purpose.

camouflaged,

she was

ready to pounce.

ready to asphyxiate.

ready to kill.

she taught me

venom is woman

spelled 

backwards

and nothing more.