Teetering atop six inch stilettos
unsteady on spindle thin legs.
Tattooed almost to the point
of becoming a caricature.
Singing with the soul
of one who has walked a million miles.
Looking worn away
from the inside out.
She staggers slightly
with eyes just a little bleary.
Detached in contradiction
to the way she sounds.
Catlike eyes reddened at the edges
consistent with the drink she holds in her hand.
A wince as the sip passes across her lips
then she takes the microphone in hand again.
The words come as if she has lived within them
become them, been them, knowing every one.
Yet she stares off into nowhere, into nothing
detaching herself from the darkness and the depth.
A joke between the songs
about how depressing it is to sing them.
Strung out one by one
and in a row.
Another drink, another joke,
another mumbled word.
Then band starts up
and she wanders off again.