Lush
she's the kind of girl
to carry condoms & a lighter,
just in case you need a smoke,
a pick me-up,
or an all-nighter.
her hair's in disarray
the cigarette smoldering between her lips,
the rips in her fishnets seem to say
"i've done all this before".
don't touch, she's the kind to scream,
the kind who breaks under your fingertips
while begging you for just a little more,
just five minutes longer.
from the tips of her stilettos
to the diamonds round her neck,
she's white trash class
can't you see it in her eyes?
don't stay.
don't let her see your weakness,
she'll pull you in
with her intoxicating smile
and her bloodshot wide-eyed stare.
she's the kind you want to show off,
content to hang off your arm
even when she knows it's finished,
pleading "it's not over, it's not over"
in your ear.
tell her it's not all in her imagination
and the nightmares will subside.
