She Polishes Her Vanity

Cheap, cigarettes generic ink,  
wasted away on such a dreary
farce.
 You,  are your creation,
 a grab bag of joy, adulterated
with lies and turmoil.

The result of a decaying persona
unkept.
Unswept, debris spills the ink pot,
 onto a vintage neon sign.
Your image arcing, from the
the excitement of its own
 reflection.
 
As if on cue,  in walks
pretty pink panties with
matching lipstick and fishnets,
 in white.    

She polishes her vanity
on the back of that magazine
cover in your head,
the one with the glossy pages
for easy cleaning.

Your bullshit smile,  searching
for recognition in this age-old
amusement of satisfy the cock.
 
 One trick pony,  needs a new trick
an incentive for this farceur to
remain the opening act in the
cluster fucked,  mulched over,
theme park littered,  with
stockings and stilettos.

 Your face pictured on t-shirts
and Halloween masks
Vying for the lead in this game
claiming the trophy  when your  
the only player.