Gauloises

A poem about a stripper

Gauloises
I used to see her every night.

Neath the heavenly neon lights.

In love with the act of self suicide same as I.

But there’s a thousand ways we have to die, speeding cars, guns, and knives.

I was stark raving mad on a designer pill that’s pressed.

A capital (V) for Versace… and her Chanel mixed.

The room shook and the colors were a mess.

Watching as she slid from an oriental dress.

Made me fall away just as fast, when I got the chance.

I Tucked folded bills into her thigh just like the rest.

Perspiration beads up on her neck.

With wet glossy lips.

Leaned close, death in her eyes, spoke softly.

"My name’s addiction!"

Angels wings inked full down her back, glitter on her chest.

Played with a gold pinky ring as old men cheered transfixed.

I wanted to ask what she was doing after her set.

But I’m on X, smoking Gauloises cigarettes.

She probably gets that kinda s**t all the time.

She looks at me || I slam my drink || tell her "You look heavenly neath neon lights."

The song ends, off stage she went.

I stepped out to the night.

I go to leave, a sweet voice asks from behind.

Can you give me a ride?

Author's Note

I wrote this one night after a ruff relationship with a pole dancer.