You seem to indulge in simple pleasures the fake tan on your skin and lace around your hips speaks m.e.a.s.u.r.e.s

even though I know you're not really a simple girl.

And sometimes they think that just maybe you have always been drunk, spilling secrets and vodka into people's laps,

Clinging to the edges of freedom and chained to your own confinement. (Red lips and bedroom eyes because you were always good at parodies just like the ones plastered across your face.

And then there are the days when you remember you sold yourself, wrote your name across paper napkins, slipped your number into the back of their pockets but no, no my darling, no one ever notices the worlds on the back)

Don't fool yourself

These people are not the poetry kind my dear, slick hair and sold salvations but they never offered to save you

So you drink your own redemptions and grin apologetically as you trip and tumble into there open hands.

They wonder if you have always been this way

(But sugar we know there's always a beginning for self affliction like this)