You’re in love with love
and addicted to rehab.
I remember you
with long painted
red fingernails,
blowing your smoke
in the air and
talking about
how you could just
kill a man.
Well, I couldn’t find it
in myself to charge
you with murder ‘cause
you’ve spent your whole life
in skintight purple dresses
(money-makers, you know)
trying to get out.
& every time some new
cholo would come along
with a slick black mustashe,
singing sweet Spanish songs,
you’d shoot up and
fall head over heels again.
Comments
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You use very vivad and colorful words to describe the heroin of this little tale. I can picture her on a street corner plying her trade. Well written!
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nice, the one line reminds me of a song.. "how i cud just kill a man"
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