Untitled By: Millie
Hand on my stomach,
Staring at all the women passing by
And all the twigs by my feet.
I’m sick of your dirty underwear on the floor.
They speak of places I have never been;
You never had the time to take me there
But you have the time to laugh
At the rivers of mascara running down my lips.
Time to wash my hands in toilet water
Until you decide they’re clean.
Broken fingers tying your precious boots
And the blood running down my thighs
Never comes out of the white bed sheet.
Ran out of bleach months ago
But still I scrub until my knuckles are raw
And my mouth stings from everything you stick in it.
Russian voices run through my mind
As you give me what I deserve.
So much noise as the bed hits the wall
Over and over again.
The neighbors don’t seem to mind anymore.
Email: minavamp@hotmail.com
