You got a purdy
face; hidden behind
the veil of naivety;

it's a round,
oblong shaped
distraction

Something tells me
you haven't shaved in days,
the whiskey smell still lingers,
and your favorite rigged chips
have left stains

on the couch, on your
only white t-shirt;
nothing but crumbs
all over the carpet

Rent is due,
your face will pay the bills;
it writes the checks
with ruby red lips;

and your body
drags itself like a carcass
just to keep up