war sash wife beaters and pen lids of MD,
girls in just their bras, with Fruit shoots and JD,
a floor that sticks to your dignity,
and I know when you look at me, you can’t really see,
cause the mist in your eyes tells mine that you’re not really here
not really holding my hand or kissing my neck.
And the way that you sway gives away your secret.
Don’t treat me like a girl you just met.
Keep your flies in check. You went to the loo and came back without a shoe.
What the fuck has gotten into you?
What has been snorted up that left hooked nose?
What is making you cling onto my clothes?
you don’t know whether your taking them off your trying them on,
your language flows,
but not like Oscar Wilde, like a drugged up child at the dentist after too much morphine,
with that sedated gleam, you grin and kiss my lips,
you push really hard like your trying to make us stick, is this a romantic kiss?
Or are you just using me to lean on with your face,
because you can’t see straight,
your head is spinning. Every song is your ‘favorite all time tune’
and I promise myself I’ll walk away soon.
© Copyright 2016 JessicaStone. All rights reserved.
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
Script / True Confessions
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