(Waste Your Love)

I know a girl who loves to waste her love like it's a vodka tossed salad night
the kind where daddy's darlings dance naked with charming cross-track children
who haven't any use for your absolute sky crazed minds and would rather
introduce you to their dear friend Jack who promises and promises but can't
ever pay you back the money you lent him so he
could "get by" with imaginary imaginations because he was
too cheap to buy real cocaine with your cash
and you have to wonder if his styrofoam headgear blocks your
pleas with your fear or if it was all just too big a mind-fuck
for you to loosen up your pen from it's early morning tick across
quasi-informative mishaps from sticking your tongue where it didn't belong
in conversations guised in the appeal of frozen flagpole fascination
and solid water information that sent you
screaming through supermarket isles about alcohol and pearls spilling
all over chess checkered linoleum makeshift blanket floors
a comfort of brain dead clocks stuck at 5:04 except when
it storms then it's always midnight
midnight
midnight