two dollar tights
I'm floating around my childhood living room, in tall black boots and a pencil skirt, nod at him, nod at her, they say I’m no longer the girl that grew up in their neighbourhood. I don't remember her well and everything she wrote surprises me.
my mom turned sixty, but she told all her friends it was her fifty fourth birthday. all of them are coupled up, except the one, she's the prettiest.
glass of red, knuckles white, hold on too tight, crystal chimes, bore me with your suburb chatter, is corporate life treating you right, do you have a boyfriend? what's he like? but I'm already out, head resting against the window on the train. high mood, low mood, easier to function on the edge of insane. party just to party now, autopilot, push it down.
four rings on two hands, chipped nail tap taps against the beer can, wearing 2 dollar tights, preparing myself, for loudness, just one more night, then back to workouts in the am, right?
God help me, who am I doing this for?
