exgirl's ex

she was lonely freedom falling
leaning on that metal handrail
the winds fingers
grasping at the hope of her hair
always bandana'd
in tight pants
and a desperate hollow sadness
between drags
the words mixed with tequila
(but the tequila never mixed with
the sprite in the glass
only in her stomach)
about graffiti as the big art
and the size of a bigger canvas
and creation

she had gone down
on more girls
that i had wanted to
then i had