she gave her number out
like politicians make promises during
campaign seasons
but only when she was asked
what ensued
are rare whiskey
and scotch that
her dates cannot name
and more grains or grapes
no matter
and blurred lines
oh how she loved the dance
or the thing she knows best
Fair-weather folks surrounded her
having no idea of
their doomed fate –
soon to be cast aside
abandoned
forgotten
the fancy dinners
the sweet talks
the grand plans
no matter
she was ready for
the next prey
qualified
whoever plays the game
she walks in fire
doubts
confusion
baffled looks
curses
disappointed faces
slews of unanswered texts and voice messages
expunged
in flames
the ashes
filled the void
in her pussy
and the blaze
burned away her soul
one piece at a time