Untitled

Her whitewashed soul lays filthy in the back of your Buick.
She’s alone in a dark apartment, cleaning the spot where he blew it.
Bleach blond stars in a gaping sky is all she sees,
Dicks and sweet lies are all she believes.
The same thoughts of the same sex you practise,
The same sheets and same cheats spread out on a dirty mattress.
Do you know who she’s like?
She’s out late at night,
She’s trash that’s white,
Relatively clean, but a little less than tight.
Buzzing roaches and cigarette burns don’t match the grafitti on the walls,
But her heart and her soul match the dark barren halls.
As the hour hand keeps spinning, she will watch you keep winning.
When will it stop? The digital clock?
Ticking so loudly it’s ringing.