hooker-ette

I don’t want to be a hooker
it was a simple thought
wandering the streets jacked up on nicotine
my blood losing its precious percentage of alcohol
the green haze fading out to the come-down-cravings
only a few hours away

It was the kind of place you could be a hooker
and no one would think twice about it
I knew girls that blew guys for cigarette packets
… I’d never been that desperate

Big boobs and mini skirts
that was all these guys cared about
simple really, if you were willing to trade orgasms for drugs
assuming the guys you were fucking
had any idea how to get you off

I wasn’t a proper sex addict back then
the drugs just got me wet
made me easy
and break my sober promises
of I’d-never-fuck-that-guy

It’s all a thrill until it’s yesterday’s news
going through the motions of coffee and cigarettes
shots and weed
someone’s wandering hand and the loss of my underwear

I wasn’t junkie enough to steal
didn’t have a taste for the needle
or the nods, or throwing up out the window
staring at a wall for ten minutes or more
and having a permanent boner
these boys didn’t need Viagra
when they had heroin to keep them going all night

I don’t want to be a hooker
it was a simple thought
wandering the streets jacked up on nicotine
my blood losing its precious percentage of alcohol
the green haze fading out to the come-down-cravings
only a few hours away

And I wasn’t proud that I’d considered
permanently relieving myself of my underwear
so I could live in perpetual intoxication
unable to look at myself in the mirror
‘cause the person staring back….
well, she didn’t look like me

I don’t know what kind of life expectancy
there is for alcoholic street hookers
who occasionally hallucinate on weed and prescription pills
and have morbidly romantic suicidal tendencies  
but if TV cops shows are anything to go by
it wouldn’t have taken long for me to end up dead
in a seedy hotel bathroom after an OD
of kinky fuck gone wrong

It never mattered how kinky it got
I still felt like the same old dog pulling the same old tricks
and I wasn’t even getting paid… yet
though I guess you could have said I was already in training
when I was trading myself for drugs

© Indie Adams 2013