The Town

The thoughtless whispers at the end of the hallway
are replaced by the delicate steps of children
on a hot, hot sidewalk,
muffled
by the thirty-dollar sneakers their mothers bought
on sale

a couple kiss beneath a Technicolor picture
of David Bowie
their tired lips twin butterflies
fluttering together in bruised battle
while a young man in the next room over
receives a feel under a dirty blanket
from a girl no more respected
than her prostitute of a mum

And even though I've got no right
I'll sit there, fiddling with the radio stations
like I'm innocent too
but innocent proves guilty as I watch
and itch an imaginary mosquito bite on my ankle
so I have a place to look
when a boy catches my eye and grins
looking for a fuck when all I can offer is a drunken night
spent sobbing and begging for peace of mind

and so I watch my web get rained upon
as each strand slowly bears the weight of too much water
and eventually splits into two pieces
of sex and drugs and boredom
and me
I sit there
murdering time
scratching smiles into my legs with a pen
so I don't have to return the gazes of my enemies.