bullets on the dance floor

when you can’t wash the fallacious smell of sex from the sheets,

before she slips off her ring and offers you something better your mind slips into the gutter

as you pay your night through faux love and daiquiri your neck sweats with intoxication 

when the money runs out and slurred speech comes in fits the dance floor becomes blood red in the blink of an eye

you wrote an apology attached with a bullet and never heard back 

if looks could kill she’d be your first victim and last, 

from the malice in your eyes and malice in her heart the grave is just a song and a dance away