Wednesday, 10 December 2008

dirty stop out

Again, you make this morning trek
nothing more than a hungover wreck.
Head down walking, your heels click
like the sheriff in some western flick.
Your dress doesnt offer any protection
against your shame. Like an auction,
you went home with the highest bidder
its just leaves you feeling much cheaper.
Shivering, alone, walking through town,
full of self loathing, waiting to be found.
They look at you and feel them shout,
the words burn deep, 'you dirty stop out'.
Wanting to be centre of their attention,
yet for him you just provided a functon.
Kick you out without offer of breakfast
doesnt care, he sleeps on, not fussed.
Not even helping you to find your jumper,
your head says, get out of there, scarper.
Eyes no longer sparkle are far long dead,
dark thoughts again creep into your head.
Deep inside you cry, cheap dirty whore,
as you walk back through your front door,
wipe that old, worn makeup off your face,
scrubbing yourself clean with some pace.
Looking at yourself in the mirror you see,
your disappointed self, wanting to flee

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