I bet the air is toasted in cigarette smoke
While liquor glosses over the wooden trim.
Everyone is smiling, including yourself,
It’s just another Thursday.
The bass is thrumming, making you whole,
And all your worries, soluble.
But here, there is no groove
Or burning liquid to tell my thoughts to
shut the fuck up.
Here is where self-deprecation comes to march
Waving with a smirk at every neuron,
Crossing all marked territory.
I dressed the part—draped in satin
And zipped up the heels that you like.
Even put on my petticoat swinging my scarf twice.
I went to revise, perfecting every lipstick line
And when I took a step back
All that was left was the dimmest,
I took everything off,
Convincing. I am. . .
My call log can convict me,
My number of likes are pathetic.
I’ve slid under the radar, they haven’t caught me
Yet, my righteous heart won’t let me free.
I throw on your flannel,
Losing another battle.
My mascara, now crusted, reminds me
Everything I have starved myself of.
There’s only me to blame for this
Only I can serve the penance.
While the radiator drones on,
Static and cavernous,
I hope you sip your whiskey slow.