she sprawls across your floor,
and drinks shots through blue
straws, shot through with glitter. her nails are pink,
and you watch her chip it off until her nail beds have started to bleed,
she argues with you about iraq and who was the better
prostitute in sin city.

she scribbles words lazily across your jeans,
you watch her and she smiles, and you
are never sure if she is thinking about you.

the pills in her jacket pocket scare you,
you ask her about them. she tells you that
they can be crushed, but putting them up your nose
isn't the best idea, and you laugh. that wasn't your question,
you don't like her answer, but then, you never do.

she tells you the mark on her neck
is from you, you bite hard and she laughs,
and she kisses you. you ask if she is telling the truth.
she lights a cigarette and smiles. yes. always yes to you.

(she isn't)

a/n: the first of about four i believe. these were started last week, and the block has finally shattered. or maybe, i'm not afraid to write anymore.