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About lost opportunities and indecisiveness, and the lack of confidence that could ruin your life inadvertently. Of course, one shouldn't be reckless, but one shouldn't be cowardly too. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.

You were starting to notice the smoke
the room was blurred by the billowing poison
it'd kill you slowly you know
but it's burning tanginess helps you
to see her

emerging through the darkness
you approach her
note the stunning detail
of her black-hole-blue dress
sit on the stool next to her
order a suitably strong macho drink
toss it back and say high in your best man-voice
(you knew those cowboy boots would come in handy)

emerging through the darkness
you stalk her
mind's eye intoxicated with the fumes
of the excitement of the hunt
the taut brown swath of calf? bottom? shoulder?
it does not matter
as sneaking up on her you smartly smack her butt
(the meat needs to be cured with a touch of salt)

emerging through the darkness
you trudge determinedly up to her
no pretences no preparation
conscience cleared by the bold sweep of basic necessity
as you grip her shoulders
stimulated by her surprised gasp and the tinkle of breaking crystal
spinning her around and plunging your tongue
as your mind plunges elsewhere into black, stifling warmth
(rightoutthereinpublicitfeelsgoodbutyouknowyouknowdontyou!)

but you were still on your stool
on the other side of the room
that tall stool seeming to grow with every second
lifting you from this poisoned fairytale
you dared not step down
and as the smoke darkened you view

that blue woman faded into miserable painful memory
(undoubtedly in someone else's cup by now)
you realised it may be tough to be a bottomfeeder
but it's too lonely at the top
(the vodka doesn't count as a dancing partner)

You never really had a choice.