maybe

she leaves early --

(avoiding the questions about

the latest boy – this one was a year younger,

and the first with glasses – he took them off

before he stripped her

b a r e) --

and as she walks home,

early morning mist and

business men who stare at

yesterdays clothes (an added layer of dirt – cum-stained trousers,

she thinks,

with a grimace)

and yesterdays mascara (kind of like her life,

she thinks,

flaking)

-- and as she walks home

she thinks, maybe one day this will

stop, (and she won't be the girl who

fucked

the only stranger at the party) --

maybe.


a/n: So this is incredibly old - I wrote it over a year ago, I think. It feels strange posting this now, as it is almost entirely irrelevant to my life now... it sort of feels like I'm lying. I'm posting it anyway, because it reads kind of like hope to me - that was my life, but now it isn't - I wanted to change, and I did.