Genie in a Gin Bottle

Genie in a Gin Bottle(Steven Cooke) Her lips caress another cigarette,
a fading belle looking for love.
The smoke veil's a creature of habit
chasing a young girl's dream

But this Genie found the palace doors locked,
Her youth distilled into a bottle of gin
and diluted by these street's of sin

Now her makeup hides the bottle's content,
silk fingernails deluding the smokers hand,
her wig of blonde hiding the soul beneath
the ladder in her stocking's,
torn like her Hollywood dreams.

Her perfume sickly sweet,
masking the odour from yesterday’s gin.
The ashtray is full,
cheap lipstick covers the tab ends
her vigil to find happiness

But he never comes.
Only a stream of chancer’s
wanting to spin lady luck one more time,
fuelled by the promise of paradise
a vacation from life
and a brag for Jack Daniels

Under neon lights
A beautiful girl content in her gin bottle,
her saviour from this cruel world.
An inner voice plays in her mind
“I could have been a movie star”
a role she can play all too well.

But morning light never lies
her beauty, has fled, left on the pillow
like some Monet’s impression.
Regret lays sprawled out
like yesterday’s salad,
thrown out with the rubbish
for the slugs of corruption to eat
.
Her aging face revealing every rejection
every turned down script, every broken dream,
a lifetime of heart break.
But she still plays her part well
Play it again Sam
and another cigarette,


The same mistake, the same men,
from all the gin bars in the world
she had to choose this one.
Another lottery ticket to litter her despair
no winning numbers here.

Her silent acceptance speech,
laid bare in her blood shot eyes of regret.
A mouthwash of gin
and the genie of love returns to her bottle,
her legs bruised and varicose,
testament to waitress by day and genie by night.

He closes the door,
his only thought to get away, not his finest hour
Jack Daniels his moral escape goat
nosey neighbour’s his jury
they bare witness to his walk of shame

She opens the curtains,
and sees him fade into the faceless crowd.
Alone again, a full ashtray and an empty gin bottle
symbols of last night’s play.
The mirror torments her image,
as she drinks coffee through smoke stained teeth

A wave of her head, a smile Steven Cookeand a daydream
tonight, her prince will save her,
this is her delusion, her reason to live

But time is running out,
for she is part of life’s crap game.
The dice rolls once more
will it be happiness? or loneliness?
but in the end, deep down she knows
the house always wins in tinsel town.