A Hesitating Cloud Of Despair - Jenny Wilson

Posters from teenage magazines,

Closed the door, you locked it with a key

The pictures would keep you company at night

Handsome strangers to hold on tight

You put some music and it filled the room

Gently like a snowfall.

We were always interrupted by your mother

She was knocking at the door, offering cookies,

Candy, ice cream from the store.

I thought you were spoiled, you screamed

«Piss off you fuckin' whore»

And then you whispered

«Let's steal some wine, mom won’t notice anything»

And while the music melted down

We heard her steps, she was staggering.

We were bored, but you know,

You’re not supposed to play at that age

The only thing you talked about was guys

And getting laid

You had big tits and every boy in school wanted to fuck you

You told me stories about what these boys could do

«they rip off your clothes, all they wanna do is screw»

Cans of hairspray piled up like skyscrapers

I remember the smell of dark

Fat food that your mother fried in the cigarette smoke

And in a hesitating cloud of despair.