her cold blue eyes reflect like static on a broken televison, except without the hiss.
her blood red lips are cracked like the desert floor.
and she never gave me a chance to see her true colors...and now its too late.
her love is priceless but her body's cheap. baby nothings free.
and through her open mouth screeches the sound of a dialtone that no one can hear. so the phone stays off the hook and her glazed stare begins to slowly flicker out like another broken down street light in a run down neighborhood.
the dim light shines just bright enough to show a little more than the silouhette of a scantilly clad whore. pounds of make up and smeared mascera taint a once picture perfect beauty queen face. she has the marks of a track star, but she never ran a race.