A white striped dress hugging my body
clinging to my empty belly,
filled with nothing but too much of the cheapest liquor money can buy.
My lips smiling, a heart the color of the 11:30 sky.
The expectations of birthday hung stagnant in the room
like a portrait of paradise hanging in a museum that no one,
bothers to look at.
Anything but perfection would be a tragedy.
House music beating mercilessly on the drums in my ears,
though I am far from home.
Countless sets of eyeballs pleading with me to not let them leave alone.
Cupid’s name should be overpriced shots because
I fell in love that night.