Among shattered plastic and crushed ice cubes
Crunching underfoot her tattered boots.
Twirling and fluttering her black dress,
She dances away her memories
With every step
And puts down every shot glass
To chase away the pain.
She lets their hands guide hers, spin her, hold her.
Each one of them close
So that they were further from her
Than they ever could be.
The salt and gin on their skin,
An intoxicating barrier to what was hers.
She’ll only dance with the wolves
Because they'll never bleed.
And oh, how willingly they dance
With one they think is the sheep.