She likes the view from on top.
Classy woman.
Exhausted from pretending, she strips all that is moral as the front door closes.
And while night grows longer she scowls towards the bottom of the hill.
Babbling to no one while smearing her red lipstick all over her wine glass.
She doesn’t notice and wouldn’t care if she did,
This is her bloody house!
Nails long and made for pointing,
Even the furniture inching its way towards the door.
Messy girl.
Finally, the bottle tucks her sloppy ass in with a kiss on the cheek
and lovingly whispers,
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CONVERSATIONS WITH ASSHOLES 