deepundergroundpoetry.com

fucking for the holy green

I remember eyes roaming over me  
followed by the words, “I’d like to tap that”    
and my automatic response of the evil eye  
with an empty promise to myself    
that I’d never go there, which was revoked  
every time I worshiped the holy bong    
and inhaled my way to wonderland.    
   
Dead eyes in a rusting mirror.    
I used to laugh at my own reflection    
while for a second or two  
I’d admire the pretty girl looking back  
with ghosts in her eyes  
that couldn’t really be me.    
   
In the glare of sobriety I’d revert   
to the ugly girl fucking her way to an unsatisfying escape.    
The only reason for being wanted
an easy access sign on a door that clicked open
at the slightest pressure of a hand between my thighs.  
   
Every morning was Welcome to Hell!    
full of memories that couldn’t always be erased    
by invoking the holy green  
chased down with a beer or four.  
Though I bloody well tried to forget  
the yesterday I was a whore    
and by midday I would be again    
just for a taste of green.    
   
© Indie Adams 2012
Indie
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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