Nuse of hope

I passed out on the floor
Wishing for more
From a whore
Who just walked out that door
Saying forever nomore
Leaving me to be
Spousebuly free
Only me
That's my destiny
On the floor, crying for some whore
In a state of isolation
Surrounded by my moat of non hope, with a label on it called rope .
The label so tightly wrapped around my moat of hope , squeezing out every last drop of liquid from it.
Until my moat drys up for the day and puts on a brave face for those who have theirs tatted on. A forever fake face.
Their faces are their coat of arms,
Showing who they click with.
But my coat goes on one day at a time , every day struggling more and more to put on my fake face so my label won't dry me up .
Just to keep my moat with enough liquid in it to stay aflot