He tells me that I’m beautiful.
That I’m good at what I do.
He tells me that I’m worth every cent while the clock ticks to two.
The mattress is up against the window.
The door is locked x3.
I sit and watch as the smoke floats and drifts around me.
I use my magic words.
And I do my hair just right.
I’ll make a bunch of money if I can make it through the night.
The drugs make it bearable.
So my body hardly feels.
This is my reality now. This is what is real.
Makeup painted on my face
And Fishnets up my thighs.
I tell him that I need him, right to his buggin eyes.
His pipe and rock are on the floor.
So I watch where I walk.
When he gets it in his system I can hardly even talk.
The paranoia eats his mind
As the clock ticks to 4.
He locks us in the bathroom, so no one can see us anymore.
The last of his drugs are gone
As the hour comes to 5
He tells me that I’m beautiful. That I make him feel alive.
He drops me off at home
And thanks me for what I’ve done.
“Last night was great.” He says with a smile,
“I Can’t wait for the next one!”