She Has No Idea
She wrote it on his skin,
and he hoped that
it would sink in.
It was just a phone number,
but he thought of it as coordinates,
that once he left the bar,
the darkness,
he would find something,
something worth leaving for.
He remembered the way she
smiled as she wrote,
the way her nails carved into
his hate of that place;
That the fact that she was there,
made up for the dirty glasses
and watered down drinks,
the stale smoke,
and the crooked toothed lounge singer.
He got to his car,
and warmed up
the heart of a new journey.
Lit a cigarette with the lighter
she left, before kissing the
neck of his shadow,
whispering to the wounds
he was so used to drowning in.
As he exhaled the first puff,
he watched his tachometer
steadily rise, red, angry
revolutions, memories,
nightmares...regret
swelled against the
windshield, blurry.
"She has no idea
what she is in for.."
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
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