Seedy motel postcards & cum stained sheets

 
 
I roll up
a joint  
laced with  
angel's dust  
to sooth the  
gaping scars  
in my soul  
& just maybe  
find god  
& ask him  
what the  fuck  
 
you wipe  
the cum  
from your  
lips  
counting  
the money  
your "tip"  
not including  
the  ones  
you took  
from his  
wallet  
while  
he was  
calling  
his wife  
making  
up some  
lame  
excuse  
why he  
would  be late  
 
I kiss you  
& we  
fuck  
for a while  
then  
get dressed  
& go  
get  
something  
to eat  
 
this is  
our life  
& we  
are happy  
to say  
that we  
are getting by  
just fine  
thank you  
 
from Bathroom Graffiti Terry Smith