There is an angry scent
of alcohol in the rugs of these floors.
a thousand faltered steps
upon these stairs
and i've watched every one
with clenched teeth
and furrowed brows.
i've seen rooms in our home
turned into cheap motels
with vibrating, coin machined mattresses.
i've heard you scream
for validation
for acceptance
for affection
but get nothing despite your need.
you heed
but rarely to my words
you choose to hear
empty promises whispered
into your lovely ear
until you can slip a new coin in
and the cycle, it starts over again
a laugh
a broken bottle
and the stumbling
as you taste the lint on our steps
carry yourself to bed
with tonight's prince charming
and regretful memories tomorrow at noon
heaven forbid you wake up to your own stench
or perhaps to coin-empty pockets
or an outtage of jerks of the world
to realize that you are worth much more
than change being tossed against metal
much more than 4 hours of trial
much more than how numb you feel
and you'd know this
if you took a step back
spit yourself out
and pick the pieces up without
reaching for a bottle.
