landlords, and women

I can feel the sound of my heart beating on my diaphragm like the landlord yelling for the rent.
I don’t have the rent, not a dime of it.
I spent it on these expensive clichés, and this high-class vocabulary.
I spent it all, two whole months of it, just on the ability to vomit metaphors, and secrete similes.
There used to be a time, where all you needed was a way with words, a few poems could get you any girl in the audience, but these days, I guess that just isn’t enough.
These days, it seems the landlords, and the women are all just looking for the same thing.
The same damn thing.