She’s the scars embedded in your skin from a blade and a pin,
as You ached to release, she was aching to get in.

She’s a piece of cake in the kitchen calling your name,
as sloth and gluttony has become part of her game.

She’s the numbers on the bathroom scale you see everyday,
and your fingers down your throat as you whither away.

She’s the porn sites you indulge in when no one is looking,
or the girl on the business trip you came across hooking.

She’s the pill that helps you sleep and cough syrup sweet to taste,
she’ll remain your vodka chaser in hopes your face turns to paste.

She’s the money in your pocket that reluctantly burns a hole,
feed the slots with her and watch your bank book take a stroll.

She’s the needle in your arm and a white line up your nose,
a humble servant to the end, till the morgue tags your toes.

She’s the bottle of bourbon you drank as you sat behind the wheel,
slamming head on into a school bus, innocent lives she loves to steal.

She comes in brilliant colors and is disguised in many forms,
taking you to hell and back again, your will she always outperforms.

Those whom met her call her cunning, baffling and powerful,
she’ll come wearing a bright red bow, at first she seems delightful.

She’s your obsession and compulsion, all that you do in access,
she is always enticing for she is the Same Whore in a Different Dress.

© Wendy 2014

Featured Writer at “Creative Talents Unleashed Writers Group”
www.facebook.com/groups/ctupublishing

Photo Credit: © Donna J. Sanders