These streets are cold, mama.
Don’t do what you’re thinking.
Every city block has a corner store.
Every corner store has seventy-five
cent razors behind the counter-
waiting for a crazy whore who
walks the streets alone, punishing
herself for living, smiling,
memorizing happy, happy thoughts.
Believing happy thoughts in circles,
breathing through each fucking evening.
It doesn’t make sense.
It isn’t sane.
These streets are cold.
No one knows your name.
You’ve done this before.
You’ve played this game.
You end up beat up with a cock in your mouth.
You end up strung out.
There’s nowhere to run, baby.
All the ugly faces in the mirror are screaming.
You are locked in with your hounds and your demons.
Trier Ward is a mother, poet, and scientist. She lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico and performs at open mics in the area. Her poetry appears in various anthologies and online forums including The Nervous Breakdown, Bohemia, and Mad Swirl. Her first book of poetry, Bruises and Love Bites, is available at Her second book of poetry, The Hollowscape, is forthcoming in 2016 from Penhall Publishing. To contact Trier, write to
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