Here I am, dancing,
plastic wine glass full of that purple
dream, that cabaret sleep. By the deejay yelling
requests to be played.
Then there's photos, there's selfies, there's
a hand on my *** because "What? It's funny!"
Alone. Again. So alone, I fear that I might go insane
from want, from jealousy, as they waffle their fingers
together, cleanly. I watch. I dance some more,
moving my hand through my hair because I know how that makes
some men feel. And you? And you. Not here, but as loud as the
wind that wakes me up the next morning.
Not here.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
Here I am, dancing,
plastic wine glass full of that purple
dream, that cabaret sleep. By the deejay yelling
requests to be played.
Then there's photos, there's selfies, there's
a hand on my *** because "What? It's funny!"
Alone. Again. So alone, I fear that I might go insane
from want, from jealousy, as they waffle their fingers
together, cleanly. I watch. I dance some more,
moving my hand through my hair because I know how that makes
some men feel. And you? And you. Not here, but as loud as the
wind that wakes me up the next morning.
Not here.
