Hot mess

The smell of  stale cigarette smoke mixed with unwashed hair grease,
Bursting out of her low-cut, red-velvet top, above mysterious black legs,
A hot mess of disorganised, bulging curves;
This was the southeastern European goddess.
Behind her wide, chocolate eyes,
She longed for a better love yet
Her quivering smile hinted
An innocence
That bad men could not resist.
She knew no different.
An appetite for affection,
An addiction to her fantasies;
A sensational, insatiable sensationalist.
Lying with,
Lying to,
Scarring herself with lies,
Permanent and ugly,
Haunting her reflection.
Eventually sinking into chaos,
Dragged down by her mistakes,
Drowning at self-made chasmic depths,
Oh how attractive she was in the eyes of a man looking for purpose;
That he could be her life jacket.

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