by a Victoria Tan
Tonight there’s a whole lot of bankrupt
in this hot, heavy room.
Heavy, mind you, of hopeless hearts,
Smoking, ‘cause that’s all they’ve got left to do.
I know he has no money,
though he lies and says everything’s alright.
And I know all I’ve sent out will be thrown out –
as far as struggling writers go
we’re not that different,
yet not the same, in this unemployment game.
But to me, he’s still the dream
and I’m still his possibilities.
I guess we’re playing the part
slow dancing in a burning room.
