GIRLS IN CLUBS

POEM & ILLUSTRATION BY HOLLY PARKINSON


 

I thought we were more than just girls in clubs  

A pastel pink cigarette I stole from your lips 

Payment of my candied kiss, blown into smoke curls and pools   

A picture of want  

Want, need  

The feeling a penny with no shoulders or head, but feathers filigree.   

 

We were models that night, 

Feet sticky on the seats of culture  

Lights and neurones syncopated  

Beats and thunder, hypnotised.  

You understood the etiquette and took the catwalk clean,  

Shook hands with liquor, his woman and hers  

As if bolted skyward, Polaris in view   

Skunk, spit and gasoline 

With only my eyes to breathe.  

 

The classical, velvetine girl that you are shouldn’t fasten your hands to my waist like that, 

my mind shouted over the waves  

My mouth wide and silent to let saltwater in.  

If the lights had been brighter, would you have been kinder? 

As I’m screaming NO would you falter? 

Toxic, intoxicated  

TOXIC 

You are inching, inching, bristled Medusa,  

And I am ITCHING, itching. 

 

You wanted all I owned  

Perhaps I needed you, but I didn’t want a thing. 

I thought you were home  

but you were daggers and 

needles and 

disease down my spine 

and the bruises on my lips.  

p.s- I am living now, darling, 

And I see what you mean.  

I am mine to adore, and was never yours to keep.  

Even the most breathtaking building is scuffed at the edges. 

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