Sold Soulmate's

Tight blue jeans.   
Her, choppy, blonde hair   
tucked in a stocking cap.   
His beard covers his     
James Dean face.   
Both tattooed;   
He, neck to toe.   
Her, a Scarlett letter and a disclaimer     
down her back:   
      
"For the protection of the public,   
the last guy burned the map."   
      
He grabs the back of her neck,   
lovingly, escorting her to her     
next line of coke.   
They wash it down   
with whisky and a blow job.     
A hotel room, full of money   
that isn't theirs.   
A trunk full of felonies.     
Both have seen time, doing time.   
They won't go back.     
She could have her pick of suitors      
but is the only one crazy enough   
to be with him.   
They don't know any different than      
living outside of the law, outlaws.   
Murder on his hands   
and an eight ball in hers.   
Nothing to live for but nothing.     
They are a match made in Hell.