Dosage

A lifted spirit
by words of foreign tongue,
soaring from the dissolute pits
behind the black curtain;
she did it for money,
not freedom,
or by choice,
such detest.

Her gut instinct
twists and turns,
feeling unclean,
chained
by her own personal oppression
as he leaves the room;
twirling her last smile
with a kiss to his cheek.

"Bye Darling"

Then it hits her,
the trigger,
the trauma,
the past;
nicotine,
puff, puff, puff;
she feels lighter again.

She's no Damsel,
and he no Prince,
his coin only worth
a fuck of her time.

She sits at her vanity
table
staring down
at the pretty rock
waiting
to cut
her
daily dosage.