Dressed for midnight
How her addiction to speed
Was due to her lover.
I asked about personal responsibility & choice
She told me explanations were useless
Because she won’t kick the habit.
“It’s like fucking on command,”
Behind her scalp
A segment of tan wallpaper
Peeled off the decaying gyp board.
It blended with her disheveled hair
And she stood there as an addition
To her deteriorating surroundings.
When her lover came home
She acted like a mutt
Excited to see their owner.
They smoked a bubble
And ventured into the bedroom.
I went outside
Smoked a cigarette
And never saw Ambrosia again.