dance pretty girl, dance.

she could have gone places.
done things.
been somebody.
been anything but this.
it's a shame.
she's a pretty girl.
and smart too.

the run in her hose hid in the shadows behind the bend in her knee. the lights hit the stage creating that mocking glow. synthesized beats poured from the speakers. smoke from old men's cigars swallowed her behind the thick, velvet curtain. pressing her red lips together, her cheap heels walked her towards her partner for the evening. the pole. the stench of stale liquor and dirty money lingered above her lips. fake lust for the man in the third row back. an imaginary one night stand for the single dad sitting by the bar. a hard fuck in the private room for the pedophile with the fat wallet. these beats pounded her chest, making her feel some far away rhythm. one leg wrapped around the cold metal, her back arching, her acrylic nails reaching for those dollar bills. that dirty money. the blue eye shadow resembled a bruise in the harsh stage lighting, but fuck. who was looking at her face? it was time to lose the top. the second clasp always gave her trouble and the damn nails always got in the way. faster. don't keep the men waiting. that dirty money. hard fuck in the private room. fake lust. imaginary one night stand that's now becoming a reality. her sequined top lay just behind the curtain. inhale the cigars. dance for them. feel the beats. faster she spins. sliding, reaching. always reaching for that dirty money.

don't keep the men waiting.

dance, pretty girl. dance.