on my tab

on my tab

we rarely spoke

why should we

truth be told I didn't give a shit about your problems
and I know you didn't give a fuck about mine

the saturnine faces of whores painted in deception
are neither a bridge nor chasm between us
 
the residue of libertine lips on my glass
forces my eyes around the room wondering

Who?

i drank it anyway
it's the only way I'll know such pleasure

my sweet Irish sparrow pretends though
her wisps of auburn trace my lips
and flare my nostrils

whore that she is
she can be shared
so I send her over to you
you nod your approval
but you don't give a shit
she's just another whore

tonight I'm her pimp
and you
and i
will pretend to be brothers
though we've never pissed the same bed
nor watched the same drunkard beat mum

that hollow part in our soul
that doesn't really give a shit
is twined

blood and semen
the residuals of the painted ones
makes for the best ink

I used Bukowski's "two kinds of hell" as a springboard ...

http://bukowski.net/poems/hell.php