Sunday 22 December 2013

Damsel in Distress

A stog tucked between the index and the center
She dragged her steps from the floor to the couch
A skimpy, shiny golden embraced the bosom
And black leather chinos, the long legs
Her luscious glossy lips let go of the smoke
As she flicked some ash on the floor
Her black long tresses ended at the round tush
She clicked her heels and left the club
The damsel wore the thickest kohl
Blood-shot eyes and a bottle of fine wine
A woman of class, quarantined
Still walking eye-to-eye
Transgressing each stare
She marched to a loft secluded somewhere
Broke the bottle on the floor
She crashed on her bed
Scribbled something on a paper abandoned
it read, "I don't like being alone,
you all ruined me when we were together
you disappointed me each time I tried"
The pen slipped off her cold, desolate fingers
Reached the ground and made a sound
The only sound in the room
That echoed for a while.