tattoo

the party is exclusive, you told me;
a boyish grin crinkles up your face.
I lay on my back, void of clothing.
I hate you and I hate me and I hate this.
you've bought me a dress, strapless, backless;
gold as sin and red as blood.
But those are your words.
I slip it on, and your mothers earrings jingle
as I grip your arm and force a smile.
words blossom against my back,
but they are not meant for you.