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Prostitute

Contributed by phildel on Wednesday, 28th August 2002 @ 06:53:22 AM in AEST
Topic: SadPoetry

The men, they come, they go.

I wait on the stairway
Beside the hall,
Upstairs they swear.
He makes a call.

Girls in the next room,
Sip deep, red wine,
A man in the mirror,
Gestures a sign.

To me? Maybe not.
I'm safe for tonight.
Ah but no, he makes his way,
Straight into my sight.

No longer a reflection
That beckons to me, but the real
Can't conceal,
What I am, exactly.

I'm sick, I'm so sick,
Of the men, all the men,
Tear escapes eye
"Let's go upstairs" again.

We don't "make love",
He doesn't look in my eyes
I'm purchased for sex,
From now, til sunrise.

Night crawls past,
It's all a bad dream,
In the morning, I'll not think
With whom have I been?

One day I'll be out,
Be so sweetly free,
Able to look in the mirror,
And recognise me.

Copyright © phildel ... [ 2002-08-28 06:53:22]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Prostitute (User Rating: 1 )
by Jackee_line on Monday, 9th December 2002 @ 06:51:45 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

nicely done
a fine write

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