Wet weekends...
She staggers down the dark streets of broken dreamsheels, shoulder slung bare feet slapping on pavementshe laughs shrilly at the loneliness pretending not to carebut, inside where truth hides her heart is broken againgiving freely what should be withheld, mistaken for loveSunday morning, always the same self pitying introspection'Barbie-girl' shuffle repeats taunting in a stroboscobic memoryperfect secretary all week until, Saturdays party girl appearsbraying friends laugh at the performance pointedly sniggeringwhile, behind her back they parsimoniously judge herbut feed her wine, to see her fail again so they don't have tooflats and apartments of casual partners crowd her dreamsthe early morning 'fear' that someone saw her indiscretionself confident front merely a facade, hiding a softer centre'Tub-thumping' a lot to answer for, always sick of getting upbut every time she does, a little more self respect disappearsslovenly lolling in a guilty bath she tries to rebuild whats lefthow many more nights, how many more men...and womenshe can't even remember their faces, but the emptiness staysone night stands chip away until only disconnection remainsnever allowed to sleep over and always waking hungoverthey say they can't live without her...but won't live with hershe spirals out of control hiding disappointment in a glassstaggering home to see if she can fix it, with souls Elastoplast...