Professional Gas Lighters
they stand at the bar
tipping poison into their own drinks
smiling like devils with cherry lipstick—
their eyes cold and wet,
like alley cats wet from the rain.
they love to tell you
you’ve misunderstood the truth
you’ve got it all wrong—
your shadow’s on the wrong side
of the street.
they hold up a mirror—
you see yourself cracking
like cheap glass—
they grin,
one step back
one step ahead—
professional gas lighters
burning the soul right out of you.
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