Prena Poetry

i reek of self hatred
even after every shower.
there’s month old laundry
dumped, and cob webs
begging to be cleaned for good.

that half a can of beer
hasn’t been drunk
because i bought a new one
which still tastes the same
but makes me feel i am less sick

now i reek of alcohol and disgrace
i make my way down to another bar
so that i don’t let myself die within me.
but that’s not what the man
in the elevator sees.

for him,
i am perfect to some some, somewhere.
i am that lady in white silk and shrewdness.

for him,
i am the charisma people yearn to be
and bleed out their eyes for.

oh darling, little does he know
i die in that mattress every morning
addicted to a future i cannot have.

i am reeking of self hatred
and he finds me beautiful.
but there’s no sequel to this story
he’s just a man in the elevator
and i am just something
who will perish to nothing—one day