Friday night

Another typical Friday night

so she’s getting ready to hug a bottle

instead of strutting through life

not feeling the difference between love and repute

she’s let society mould her into what they wanted her

at least she was popular, at the top f her game

 

 

 

It’s Friday night and her merlot swirls within glassy confinement

as though it is filling up the deformed moon

Feet ache too much to put on her heels and head to the Shisha bar

when she can be lazy, cosied up to her bottle,

hallucinating about a simpler time when life was in her favour

bliss.


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