by Sheree Adams

Created on: April 07, 2009

Fish net panty hose, thigh high boots

Harsh red lipstick, bleach blonde, dark roots

She sets at a corner table every Friday night

Sipping cheap champagne by a candle light

Few know her story, the bar tender knows too well

A couple drinks in she says "what the hell"

She'll start dancing with any guy who asks

Parading around in one of her many masks

Then will come the question, "your place or mine?"

She isn't surprised, happens every time

She hates herself in the morning, breakfast she never does mention

He is already gone, she is left, starving for attention

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