Quiet and ashamed,
we carry a burden, so bright
this torch of the estranged
begging for that touch,
that familiar sting of bliss and pride,
cocaine sluts like us
rushing down to our knees, the thickest of our hide.
Lids fluttering in ecstacy
buried in the handprints of people better named our friends,
their taste still on our lips like smoke
bounding away from the mirror, driven off
adrenaline cliffs, when our means can't quite cash in our ends.
baby, please come over to pretend.