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