As I wondered weak and weary
Future bleak with vision bleary
Resin leak, my fingers smeary, wiped them upon the van door
Nodding, I was nearly napping
While driving, as well as crapping
Slap-happy my face was slapping, when I heard familiar snore
“Wake the fuck up” sputtered, rapping, “or break the fuck up, Señor!”
Shaken I was to the core
Got the scrip in mid-December
Hard as it is to remember
Consciousness this does dismember, makes the interesting a bore
Try to keep my head in focus
Not baffled by hocus pocus
Cannabis, it isn’t crocus, that the strangers call to score
Smart phone once again will stoke us, as the clientele seeks more
Deliver, as they implore
A call from number unlisted
Unknown address, still insisted
No longer could be resisted, I undertook my livery chore
Along a dark road unridden
To a neighborhood I’m bidden
Seeking domicile that’s hidden, unsure just what is instore
Cowardice has been forbidden on the dark paths I explore
Loathe the craven, evermore
Still my nostrils fairly dripping
Consciousness in and out slipping
Brain-fog like unpleasant tripping, skipping up to the front door
Before I can commence knocking
It opens, after unlocking
Creakingly like a cat hocking, something grim upon the floor
Sultry with a hint of mocking, appeared a terrifying whore
Said her name was Elanor
The fantasy’s at least an eight
A six will do at a great rate
But less belongs not on the plate, and she was at the best a four
Realistically a three
And even I have dignity
Lest I’m cast ignominy, reputation not restore
As she fixed her gaze on me, to die from, not to die for
“Come on in,” said Elanor
Now my heart was fairly racing
What new hell would I be facing
Some things are quite hard replacing, some losses we can’t ignore
Following her fat ass walking
Squirting out of corset stocking
Cellulite side to side rocking, a little mouth puke, insides sore
Distantly I heard her talking, walking down the corridor
“You’ve earned a tip,” said Elanor
Told her that my joy is service
Couldn’t help but feeling nervous
Sometimes our deeds don’t deserve us, mixing up the metaphor
Her fragrance truly disgusting
Green slime around the eye crusting
And below her hips were thrusting, beneath panties something more
Now the little tadger busting, out proclaiming caveat emptor
Not returning anymore
Awoke in a lot for parking
Shaken by a vile cur barking
Only to find my phone harking, calling focus to the fore
Through the windshield headlights gleaming
All the terror and blaspheming
Turns out I was fever dreaming, once again senses restore
The voice in my head screaming, enraged as a muted roar “Poemethazine” and nothing more
12/22/22 Arturo Hammer
© 2022 ArtAHammer
(A writing challenge to incorporate Promethazine into a gothic horror framework, like Poe)