"Fairy Tales And Empty Truths"
I remember those long near sunset rides, where
she always hung her feet out the window.
"You know sweetheart one of these days you just may lose cute little feet hanging them out the window that way."
She always paid me no mind just leaned against me.
"You know one day you better marry me or I'm break your heart your heart."
Those days may as well have been a lifetime away.
"You know sweetheart one of these days you just may lose cute little feet hanging them out the window that way."
She always paid me no mind just leaned against me.
"You know one day you better marry me or I'm break your heart your heart."
Those days may as well have been a lifetime away.
She never lost her feet.
But I damn sure lost something.
Some people just never pull them self from wreckage.
The junkyard of this life holds more stories than the library.
Mine is just one of many.
That began so sweetly once upon a time.
But I damn sure lost something.
Some people just never pull them self from wreckage.
The junkyard of this life holds more stories than the library.
Mine is just one of many.
That began so sweetly once upon a time.
***
"Online Dating"
I met a woman off a dating site .
She was weird and a drunk, and asked strange questions .
I closed my account the very next day after having a lengthy conversation with her.
Online dating wasn't for me .
Besides there was only room for one alcoholic in a relationship .
And I wasn't in love with myself enough to actually want to date a female version of me.
I loved women I just had a natural gift for either pissing them off or driving them away.
Love was never found in a app.
But trouble and crazy fuckers seemed in an overabundance.
She was weird and a drunk, and asked strange questions .
I closed my account the very next day after having a lengthy conversation with her.
Online dating wasn't for me .
Besides there was only room for one alcoholic in a relationship .
And I wasn't in love with myself enough to actually want to date a female version of me.
I loved women I just had a natural gift for either pissing them off or driving them away.
Love was never found in a app.
But trouble and crazy fuckers seemed in an overabundance.
John Patrick Robbins
Is a bar room poet whose work is always
unfiltered he also stands as editor of both.
The Rye Whiskey Review and Under The Bleachers.
He is also the author of two books "Smoking At
The Gas Pumps by Soma Publishing" and "A Cold Beer Beats A Warm Heart by Alien
Buddha Press".
His work has appeared in.
Ariel Chart, The Mojave River Review, Red
Fez, Blue Pepper, Blognostics, Synchronized Chaos, Outlaw Poetry Network, Rasputin Poetry Thread, Piker Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Inbetween Hangovers, Your One Phone Call, Spill The Words, Academy Of The Heart And Mind.
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