Bellydancer

I am sitting by myself;
a brand of whiskey I’m unfamiliar with lay before me.
I drink it,
and fire burns down my throat.

She dances over to the side;
clad in black and jingling with her beaded bracelets.
I watch her,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I am waiting for someone;
someone lonely and fragile and superior.
I wait for him,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I am taking too many pills;
placing them one by one on my tongue.
I swallow them,
and the fire burns down my throat.

I drank her.
I watched her.
I waited for him.
I swallowed him.
And the fire burned down my throat.