Posters from teenage magazines, 
Closed the door , you locked it with a key 
The pictures would keep you company at night 
Handsome strangers to hold on tight 
You put on a record
And the music fill this room
We were always interrupted by your mother 
She was knocking at the door, offering cookies, 
Candy, ice cream from the store. 
I thought you were spoiled, you screamed 
"Piss off you fuckin' whore" 
"Let's steal some wine, mom won't notice anything" 
And while the music melted down 
We heard her steps, staggering. 

We were bored, but you know, 
You're not supposed to play at that age 
The only thing you talked about was guys 
And getting laid 
You had big tits and every boy in school wanted to fuck 
you 
You told me stories about what these boys could do 
"they rip off your clothes, all they wanna do is screw" 
Cans of hairspray piled up like skyscrapers 
I remember the smell of dark 
Fat food that your mother fried in the cigarette smoke 
And in a hesitating cloud of despair.