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Wicked Men (prose)
We sat in groups talking about the wicked men,
With coffee cups and ashtrays strewn on the table in front of us. We talked about the men who loved us, the men who left us, and the men who hurt us.
The men who used our bodies as batteries to plug into to get the electric shocks to their egos,The men who never called us again. The men who spoke of futures with such conviction we were left stumped at the sound of tones on a voicemail.
About the tall men, who convienently looked down upon us.
Or the short men who revoked our...
With coffee cups and ashtrays strewn on the table in front of us. We talked about the men who loved us, the men who left us, and the men who hurt us.
The men who used our bodies as batteries to plug into to get the electric shocks to their egos,The men who never called us again. The men who spoke of futures with such conviction we were left stumped at the sound of tones on a voicemail.
About the tall men, who convienently looked down upon us.
Or the short men who revoked our...
