I’ve watched you break hearts from several rooms away,
but every night I used to stand in line praying
that the next heart broken would be mine.
You play men like a loaded deck–
flashing your cards to keep them hooked,
waiting for their hearts to fold,
so you can put them to rest
with a royal flush and scandalous smile.
Teasing them with a seductive pot
keeps them coming back to gamble more–
but at a price.
they’d pay that price just to watch you
slowly stand and lean over the table
in that hot little way that you do–
collecting their money with arms spread and eyes searching.
Instead of sampling the bartender’s special,
you like to fill up on the usual–
broken men in a crowded bar
without a ring on their hand
or a sober thought in their minds.
But not I–
I’ve stopped praying that you’ll turn my way
and fix those dark eyes on my already broken heart.
I’m thankful that you never have.
You’re a smokeshow in scarlet–
with a smile that carves through moral reservations
like a butcher’s finest blade.
Only now the smoke has finally cleared,
and your “love” will never bite me.
Image: “In The Bar” by Olga via Deviantart