She looked pretty enough
to **** the boredom between his legs
and he was drunk enough
that she could make him beg
and bark and do anything
she would command
and it was ten past desperation
and a quarter till nothing
but the cold embrace of an empty bed
and nothing really mattered
between the pages
of a dime store novel
drowning at the bottom
of a wishing well
full of bad pennies
and poor luck in the matters
of fairy tale love
and she was too broken to care
and he was too lost to find
and they found themselves
exchanging plastic smiles
and hollow laughs
and there was more ***** and alcohol
than blood inside their veins
and the regret of bad decisions
was something that
they didn’t seem to mind
and neither one could remember
whose house that they were in
as their clothes and inhibitions
were both lying outside
of the bedroom door
and they couldn’t tell if it felt good
because they couldn’t remember
what good was
but he grunted and barked
and she gasped and she moaned
and at some point they felt the need
for cigarettes
so they pretended
to be done and satisfied
and they didn’t speak a word
that didn’t end up in a laugh
and they were both the punchline
of a joke that no one else could hear
and they both decided to drown
in the bottom of another bottle
so they couldn’t see their tears