Neon

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Smells like cheap perfume and plastic boobs.
Dented, grey, Cadillac and plenty of booze
Only thing real is her high heels,
Bright, red, soul scuffed up shoes

I wouldn't say I knew her,
wouldn't say I cared.
Who else saw that cheap display?
Skunk roots and corona are her forte

I wouldn't say I knew her,
Didn't say I didn't .
Everyone does,
everyone has.
Seen her mascara run a mile long?
Yeah I saw her hidding
in the neon lights of that old bar.
Outside of town,
where no one goes.
Well, except me, but you know
When you want whiskey and want it bad,
gonna do anything .
Now ain't that sad?

What's it to you if I die?

There's a little boy in a corner,
probably crying his eyes out.
Hidding in the corner, of an old trailer bedroom.
It feels like a prison, maybe it is
I never know where she is.
He cries out, "Mamma, where are you?" in the dark,
no one answers, just a meadow lark.
The junebugs are singing their nightly
lullabies to me.
I wish she were here, even if she hits me.
The strike of her fist, is sloppy and cold,
It always puts me to sleep, yeah I'm out cold.

My hair hangs in my eyes,
dirty knuckles hug my knees,
Yeah I guess it's just me.
Again tonight, all alone.
While you drown in the neon
of that old bar sign and leave me in the shadows.
It's seems there's never an end to hell, or filter for its smoke.
It constricts around my lungs,
I cough, and start to choke.

The floors are stained with cigarettes.
Old bud lites and crushed coke cans
The air is warm, almost stifling.
It's a hundred degrees and
barely June,
while I'm cramped in the corner of my bedroom.

I hear a car, maybe a pick up?
I sure hope it's not the truck
Old hank can pack a meaner punch.
If he walked in, it'd be just my luck

The dim headlights attract a lot of bugs.
I see them out the dirty window.
I can hear them slurring, yelling somethin,
can't quit make it out.

The door it creeks, them slams shut
My mom cries when he slaps her.
"Get away from me you old sl*t"

I wait and wait,
then hear him leave.
My breath comes back,
my chest stutters and heaves.

She muttering, cursing,
stumbling in.
Banging on my door,
"Let me the f*ck in!"
I have two chairs, and part of my bed
shoved against the knob
She pauses her banging,
slips towards the floor with a sob
I wait and listen, but I don't hear her speak.
Her voice breaks and
trembles with a squeak.
She says my name
but I dare not answer.
Maybe she'll think I'm asleep?
Her form moves back,
scuffing the wood.
I hear her door close and snores follow suit.

I don't bother moving anything back.
It's just another night spent in the shadows, and
her in the neon.










A Song Of Winter And Spring: Poetry depicting heartbreak And happiness Where stories live. Discover now