My shitty poetry :*)

Lothario bby

5. It's hard to love someone who's body is a hotel. Do you like to hurt me? Is that why you house everyone but me? Making them pay for your room with sloppy kisses instead of I.O.U's. Tumbles on your worn out, broken bed, instead of crisp, fresh dollar bills.
You're like a bed-and-breakfast. And I think you like it. You like seeing her wake up dazed and confused, followed by lazy smile when she remembers how good of a deal she got on the ruined, ramshackle, house that is you. You should know, she stole the mini bible from your dresser, but God knows you don't use it. She smoked in the bathroom, fogged up the mirror, and took the prescription pills from the medicine cabinet. She took my fucking dress from the closet, and wore it, used my towel when she dyed her hair. She slept in the bed, and now I can't lay in it without smelling her fucking scent. Now when I turn on my side at night, for a split second I think it's her lying next to me, and then I see your smile; even when you sleep, you're a sly motherfucker, with your hair that looks like a tornado made love to it. I know it's you lying next to me, but you're still slick in her scent, and maybe you forget, maybe you don't care, but her "Ravish Me Red" lipstick is still fresh on your skin. But I guess it makes sense. Instead of giving you a bullshit credit card number, she gave you a heartbreaking kiss. Don't worry, I'll ring the bell at the check-in desk when I want a private room for two, me and your infamous Infidelity...🌿🌿