“I never had a childhood. Not like the rest of them anyway. I had a starting point from which I have never stopped running.”
― Dave Matthes, Bar Nights

“The door is cracked

We used to meet
like water does land
no
not that
more like when skin touches skin
kissing fingertips
or when air escapes a lung
and is felt across the world
I've leapt over cracks in sidewalks
and swallowed away troublesome back pains
that could only be fixed with someone else's pills
We met by your house one stray day
and you drove me to the bay
where we sat and kissed like it was yesterday
And here you told me that you loved me
and that you always loved me
and that you would always love me
the wind blew and I held you
You rested your head on my shoulder
and the wind blew warm
Later, in your big red truck, we smoked some green
and I kissed you harder
and held your breasts, and felt between your legs
and with a gasp
you told me you were in love with me
And then you drove me back
and we promised it wouldn't be the end
not this time
The quill and inkwell on your foot
I'm a writer and you are my greatest art
I returned to my hell and dreamt of you once more”
― Dave Matthes, Strange Rainfall on the Rooftops of People Watchers: Poems and Stories

“She came towards me with a juicy gash between her legs that smelled like my best friend's sister"

Just when I thought I'd escaped them all
She comes reeling herself in
pulling at my strings
her hand quick to find my zipper
She moaned the way a drunk old lady does
And I wasn't even inside her yet

"You don't have anywhere else to be," she managed to say...
"My wounds have been reopened tonight already," I muttered

I caught wind of the gully
...the part of her she once kept sacred as a Christian
I smelled the information
I lifted my hand into the air and hailed a cab
He rolled down his window and saw her
"Find another cab," he said,
and sped off into the night

I took her home
because she said she was lonely
really she was drunk off something
some memory or some choice
she walked funny...
-one of her heels had broken

On the couch I left her,
Before I could go, she grabbed my cock
I slapped her across the face and she pulled harder
Her eyes stayed closed
Her lips dripped
Her grip clenched
I wasn't getting out of this one unscathed

"If I take my pants off, will you let me go?" I asked
"If you take your pants off, I'll be suckin' that cock till you pass out from all the screamin'..."

I slapped her again, because she needed it
She laughed
Saying her cousin beat her harder
Saying her father knew how to really...
...make things happen
I asked her what her father's number was
Let's get his motherfucking self up here to take you away, that's what I said
She said he died, or killed himself
"What's the difference really," she said, chewing on her hair

She let go of my cock on her own accord
And she opened her eyes for a moment
She closed them again
And I could tell she was sleeping

Her eyes opened once more
Her face red where I'd hit her
She tasted the blood on her lip
"Do you think if we remind ourselves enough, we can make up for all the pain we've caused others?"

I said to her, "We can't. All we can do is keep ourselves from all those who don't deserve it.”
― Dave Matthes, Strange Rainfall on the Rooftops of People Watchers: Poems and Stories

“~Posters with torn edges hanging from rotten walls~

The doctor told me something once
she said
STOP DRINKING
I slapped her across the face with this
NO
I walked right out of that office
went right down to the hole
I told the bartender
WHISKEY, MOTHERFUCKER
he poured and he poured
and I slapped my money down on that bar
the man I had been driving around with
he just sort of sat there next to this hooker
she probably had something rotten
way down there between her legs
her eyes told of no soul
I emptied the bottle down my throat
and ordered some chips
the bartender told me
THEY'RE STALE
and I give him a
I DON'T FUCKIN' CARE,
GIVE ME SOMETHIN'
He slid me a ham sandwich dripping with cheap low-fat mayo and said
ENJOY
I went back to my room
and talked all night
so much conversation
it turned the toilet bowl pale”
― Dave Matthes, Strange Rainfall on the Rooftops of People Watchers: Poems and Stories