Party Animal

Was I just too fucked up

for this to work?

Had I ruined the night

before even getting dressed?

Yes,

still in bed

20 minutes to show time,

party go time,

and Im hunched over

a six pound bag

of peanut m&ms,

chugging a liter of

cold coffee

that was brewed

three days ago

when Id had the energy

to go downstairs

and the patience

to wait for the

drip drip drip

of that dark elixir.

Now, Im holding my

fucking pen

like a goddamn

hand grenade,

listening to the same song

over and over

til it makes me nauseous

and snapping at my mother

who just wants

to help me pick out a lipstick

and pleads with me

for the hundredth time

to leave my room

and go meet some people

which makes me feel guilty,

even though she doesn’t mean to

put those feelings on me,

I did somewhere in my hazy head

want to at least play normal

sometimes.

Six tranquilizers

and one panic attack later,

breathing so short Im feeling light headed

and have to pull over

into a gas station

with its boxcar lights

droning down on top of me.

I do my best to calm down alone

in my knee high black boots and

some little saucy skirt,

with one of my infamous

big tits shirts,

all of which makes

me look fabulous

but forgettable,

which Im all too aware of,

always knowing

Ive shown up to the wrong party,

feeling like some kind of

freak apparition or

an awkward octopus who shakes

and shuffles out of sight,

my eight tentacles outstretched,

attaching themselves

to the darkest corner

of the dance floor,

slurping down vodka cocktails

cause that’s what everyone else

seems to enjoy

though I know I always

throw it all up when I get home,

wishing to be underwater instead

and finding deep caves

to hide in.

I felt out of my mind,

fancied myself a vampire,

an erotic empire,

a soul entertainer,

some bastard’s badass bitch,

a fortune teller’s mistake,

a maiden of the moon,

but at the end of the night

felt absolutely nothing

and sang slurred lullabies

to my sweet midnight cat

who looked at me

with a sadness and knowing

akin to mother earth who

seemed to sleep alone too,

tossing and turning

with the tides

and eyes wide

staring into the void,

calling out for someone

to remember her name

in the morning

even when the house of cards fell

and left us

only dust and an apron

that was too tight

but must be warn

to clean the sexually frustrated furniture

and to keep

the hat racks

standing in attention

to the prophecy on

the last-standing wall

that echoed

our own madness

and the capitalist decay:

this was the only thought

that put a smile on my face

the whole evening

as I sat at the bar

and drank til I was sober again

in the already

drowning damned dawn.