Humphrey Bogart Doesn't Have Shit on Me

She quietly sips at her martini, and tries to rape the room with the way that she's sitting.
She puffs at her cigar and claims that it's classy but I know what she's really wishing; that the light from the tip will lead her from this awful bar scene.
It just may lead her to me. She swears that she's an actress, but I can see through that shit. Smoke from her lips is nervous. She's shaking like a coke addict.
So, girl, here is your fix. I'll stop your hands from shaking. The tile floor has our names written all over it. (Come dance for a moment.) Let's find a place between the alcoholics that call this heaven. (We're so damn flawless.) Baby, you'll regret this. (Scream until your lungs are breathless.) Maybe not today but tomorrow for as long as you retain consciousness. Nine AM, and the radio is introducing you to morning.
Your heart in my hands, and it's still pumping. Visions of last night; my feet out the passenger side.
The tip of your cigar was the only source of light, and who's to say there's nothing to fear. The writing on the mirror says, "I was never here." She pours herself a bourbon to start the day.