Barroom temptress, you burst through the door.
“Hot mess,” you are indeed.
Arriving, boisterously, you flock to the stool
For all of your terrible need.
Ranting and raving profanities,
As you guzzle up the drinks.
All the while, your head believes
You’re finer than we think.
Sweaty, sloppy, slutty,
As you throw yourself at men.
They cringe to picture you pretty,
And are sure that you never have been.
Piercing words are slurring,
Demanding that you be seen.
But, tonight’s another night you’ve shown
Your soul is far from clean.