Date Night

The rock connected.

Stone to cranium,

you can’t fight force.

The guy with

his pants around his ankles


into a puddle

of piss and rainwater,

dead rats

floating like papier mache boats.

He’s bleeding

and crying,

maybe swearing,

can’t understand him.

The girl

with the torn dress

stopped screaming


she’s looking at me

with the same broken eyes

like I’m just

his replacement.

That offends me.

I tell her

to go

and she runs off.

Stupid bitch,

I’m going to fuck someone

but its not her.

By Christopher Hivner

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