Little Judgements.

She's shooting up on a casket of polyester and worn springs.  
A second guess, second glance at the door  
there was one last chance to run before it was in her system  
or in between her thighs.  
He's drooling like a dribbling needle of heroin  
and she's trying to cleanse her brain of the booze.  
"Don't do that, darling."  
Her self destructive side wavers  
as the guilt is more tasty in the morning.  
Devoured, her body overpowered or empowered by her lack of self-respect.  
I am the fly on her wall, watching all her STD infesting tales.  
Will it catch her tonight, catch on?  
Stale, the taste of two day old cum from the last suitor.   
Forgot to brush her teeth.  
Reverse us, rehearse this. Reimburse me,  
my friend who sat on black metal in the freezing cold and told me I was doing wrong.  
Flashbacks don't last that long, not long enough anymore.  
She's on the floor with a soldier.  
She doesn't know his name yet she lets him take her home.  
Am I the prude?  
I'm not interested.  
If people stop paying attention perhaps she'll stop getting wet over it.  
The time is now.  
The bitch has been me  
but the hole to put a thousand keys was her.  
Time to wake up and start the story again  
who's tonight, my little nymph friend?  
I'll go and make a pot of tea and continue to read this, albeit boring, book.