Body of Work - B. Dolan

Her story is getting old

In a night with no company

Stood up by the door

So uncomfortably

Gnawing at her thumb til it bleeds

She’s in the way

Bent out of shape

The money makes her wait

The waitress looks her way and makes a face

Staring at the empty plate

Drift away…

Shifty and agitated

Frustration and despair

Silent phone and lonely rage

Why isn’t he here

We had a date…

For chrissake…

The corner’s colder than the tomb

The city air is empty

I live in god’s country

I let the devil tempt me

Drowing in the wishing well

Surrounded in this living hell

These people think they’re better than me

But I’ve got bellies to feed

That dress is too expensive

And that movie’s been made

I do for you

You do for me

It’s a mutual exchange

It fills a desperate need

3 hours late he finally texted me

Lost his nerve, maybe next week

Another deadbeat

Another drop of poison on my tongue

Another cloud of smoke filling my lungs

Rough kisses smudge the paint on my lips

Hungry stomachs and tight fists

Broken bones and bruised nerves

Sounding the alert

In a body of work

In a body of work

They promise her to the dirt

In her body

The city is a blister

Splitting open wide

The rotted shell of an insect

Laid out on its side

A little death

The hot white spotlight

Paints the darkness

With our silhouttes

I haven’t met the numbers in my head

And can’t go home yet

Instead I’m slouched against a post on a fence

Posing for them that pose a threat and hold me by the neck

Approaching next the slack jaws and fat rolls

Who get what they ask for

The dashboard glows

I tug at my clothes

Try to act casual

Tell them what it costs to rob me

They look me up and down and then we

Bargain over parts of my

Body and mind… seperate

The hour is getting late

The lost time

Dividing dollar signs before my eyes

I should’ve sized them up better

But it’s a long drive at the end of an off-night

And they seemed alright

I never ask too many questions

Get in at the intersection to slip from the city’s memory

And what do you get…

Another drop of poison on my tongue

Another cloud of smoke filling my lungs

Rough kisses smudge the paint on my lips

Hungry stomachs and tight fists

Broken bones and bruised nerves

Sounding the alert

In a body of work

In a body of work

They promise her to the dirt

In her body