tomorrow I'll look at you and smile weakly
remembering sweat-slicked skin and a cocaine kiss
the acrid, sour smell of alcohol singing
on your breath, while I tell you
I don't want this
and you don't listen

yesterday I told myself (it's time)
to stop getting in these screwed-up
situations, one day you'll find
who wants more than your
Barbie-doll body

(though they should want that, too)

today I resolved to listen when
my brain screamed caution! and to
read between the li(n)es.
the translation's never perfect, but; folláme
still means fuck me, even if
you don't speak the language

two months from now I'll pretend
this never happened and
you'll frown my way, wondering
what went wrong while I
force the feeling of guilt away

a year from now I'll still tell myself
it wasn't ra—(no, don't use that
word) it was my fault;
I let you do it and I
didn't stop you

(NO just didn't seem to be enough)

Seriously struggling on the title for this one... Suggestions welcome (and adored).