she calls herself perfect and
presses her syrup coated lips
to all the boys cheeks, blowing
kisses and sucking out souls.
her eyelashes shaking shes making
everything up right there on the
spot. but still everybody wants
to be her wind up blow up robot
toy she pauses, rewinds and
presses play on whoever shes
in the mood for. today
shes swinging her keys round and
round her bright pink fingertips
as she rolls up joints puffing smoke
into strangers facing laughing
because they don't get the joke,
no matter how much they try.

the following collection of poems are a prelude to short story I shall be posting shortly (coincidentally based on real life. )