Just one more night.
I told myself that yesterday.
Just one more payment,
The flat will be mine.
Just one more man,
Just one more paycheck,
Just one more time of closing my eyes and
Faking
It
Up
Royal
I guess you could call me a princess.
Though he’d rather call me a slag.
Millie might still take me back,
I might feel the hands of love
Caress me.
We won’t have sex,
We’ll just make love for hours,
As the sheets become my silver lining,
Glittering fingernails become my gold.
I might deplore this one more time,
But it’s just
One More Time
Author notes
Um...I don't know why this came to me like it did but that happens sometimes
A contest entry
- Cracking Plastic Spoons Reminds Her Of Nothing by Exodus.
600 points, ended August 26, 2007, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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The second stanza is very beautiful. It emphasises the difference between her work and love life so well. I think people often confuse the two with working girls. Thank you for an interesting read and good luck
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I can see what you mean about the randomness. I know how you mean, but don't degrade yourself if you do this thing, if it's based solely on imagination, that's good. I don't get it, they don't call you a slag before the sex, but afterwards they do? Doesn't that show you something about their temperment? Anyway, nice write. Very sad but a true account nonetheless.
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Famous last words to say the leastcould apply to so many areas of life
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