You’re a mess, the long blonde tress,
artificial curl, teasing neckline and tattoo fresh, peering out from under your loose t-shirt, wondering aloud how you made it to this point.
Red lips and bad trips, letting go of needles and past lovers in an addictive grip.
You beautiful mess, tearing up the night,
with the only way you know how to fight,
taking each shot at life,
wandering drunk and forlorn into the stark cold, abcense of light.
Will this be your groundhogs day,
played over and over until it ends this way?
Cigarette in hand, lipstick drenched filter…a long inhalation and a sigh, but no relief.