Lying on the floor in painful resignation
She threw up a bottle of wine
into a trashcan that night.
“You deserve the best,” he told her.
She could only see his dead eyes, rotten
And spent like dirty money.
The kind that had passed through
the hands of hookers, gangsters and politicians.
If the best was what she deserved,
Then she would only buy the bottle she
couldn't afford.
With nausea she released tainted,
cheap memories and bottomless seeking
into the unholy vessel.
Promising herself one more time
That she would not care.
Finally free.
A small scarlet stream crawled
Down her forearm.
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