Eyes and lips are drawn, lids and cheeks colored.
And so a face appears from nothing.
The mannequin, costumed, proceeds to the door
And out into a world, peopled.
Chatter can be heard--syllables crash and twinge and jab.
The sounds wash over each other and away
With the smog of the evening commute,
Leaving only traces of grime on unoccupied bus stop benches.
In the night-place, there are box-sounds and can-laughter,
And dinner, which is the same.
Finally, the face and day are scrubbed away--
Only naked honesty remains.
In the mirror, no one stares back.
Don't be alarmed. I am perfectly (I almost wrote "pervertly," and that's pretty accurate, too) fine. I just sort of stumbled upon/remembered a bunch of things I wrote in/immediately after college.* Some of it isn't half-bad. Some of it is pretty awful. Some is super-dee-duper angsty. And most of it was written mid-drunk.
Dear readers, let me introduce you to me, five years ago...
A Downer Commons Lamentation
"Why ever did I think
It'd be a good idea to sink
My teeth into that fried
Wildebeastie?" I cried.
Now my belly's a-churning
And my mouth is a-burning.
I think I'll just lay down and croak.
Do you have Sprite? No, not Coke.
Alkaseltzer or Tums?
When I'm gone, tell my chums
That I'll miss them.
Ode to Vicks
You smell real nice,
And make me tingle.
My sticky chest
Keeps me single.
But it's hard to mind
When you're around, dear,
Since you've the talent to
Make my nasal passages clear.
Some people don't like you,
But I really don't get it:
There's nothing better
When I'm feeling like shit.
To sum up, quickly:
When you're looking sickly
There're no excuses
Not to use this.
Rather than toaster and tub
Try Vicks Vapo-Rub!
*Some of this may or may not be posted online in an abandoned blog. No, I'm not linking to it. By "some of it is pretty awful" I mean, good lord, almost all of it.
(True: It is probably terrible that now-me finds past-me pretty freaking funny. If, you know, hungover.)