BEHIND THOSE SHADOWS

They look at you
and your clothes tell a story
of last night.
White shirt
with
strangers hair all over it –
it’s like the last straw
to their tolerance.

To your innocence,
that you lost
at the same time
you lost your mind.

(And clothes).

Thin stitchings of dignity
got ripped
as you were sitting on the lap of a stranger.

See-through tops
and
see-through minds
mesh together into a thinning net,
that sets such a strong foundation
for new victims to be caught
and savoured by your lips.

Your shoulders move
in the direction of their gazing eyes,
and you can tell,
that slowly
you are twisting
every
single
one of them
around your fingers
and your toes.

Count them.
Give them names.
You’re famous after all.

– Chatty Owl –