her hand in his
its sickening
dizzy words ooze
and curl around
my world

her see-through top
and c-sized cups
thrust into his greedy
eyes make the
vodka in my throat
turn to rust with

wound tight and
spiked with vomit
flecks I wait.
for the bit in the script
that fits in what I want
not what they need.

in my sticky palm
I hold her sequins
like years to come
Ill hold her dress
bridesmaid and made
to only ever be the second

my happiness is a ghost
that sounds like
words he dropped
into my lap
when he looked at me
(not her)
like that.