The air hangs thick
Like the aged tequila in the throat
I’ve spent the night wrapped around
And it pains me to hear the sounds

My soft, cool, pale skin
Is heated by the intoxicated neck
Of the woman sprawled out with her drunken head
No, he didn’t even ask her to bed

Nothing of her stays contained
Her dress, voice, composure all removed and changed
I’m just an accessory, feeling her weak breath
And it sickens me to know his game

The man of many colors
With a hand for beauty and brush extended
Reaches towards her with intentions to maim
I know too well, she’s never spoken his name

And I lay motionless
Unable to speak
And no way to go
Like her liquored neck, unable to scream no

And when he rips into her
His violence causes me to scatter and fall apart
He trips on me on that angry porcelain floor
And in the end something sharp embraces his heart