the face plastic
smile cheap like the wine
hips slender down into bones
tits hanging out
waiting for someone
conversations were no longer fun
the game was lost in
tramps
she hid herself well
the days had drawn in on themselves
and we were left with hard nights
or at least he was
she never had to be anything
other than sweet
and that was good enough for those
other boys
but not well off
for him.
he turned his head
away
away from everything
that would only frustrate him
demolish him
and keep him back
she was too heavy to carry
so he left her out there
to ruin someone else's life
or to be ruined herself
by someone who
she wouldn't mind be ruined by.
it's better to travel alone
read alone
dance and drink
write and breath
sucker punched the old dying boy
who wasn't well off enough
loving life enough
dumb enough
to be enough.
enough?
who want's to be enough
when you can be
so
much
more
than
that
and who
is
she
to
validate
him?
drawn on silver moon
by solitude.