Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
||||
Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 16:21:48 AEST | ||
|
||||
|
||||
|
|
Array
(
[sid] => 2888
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Prostitute
[time] => 2002-08-28 06:53:22
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => 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. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 146 [topic] => 32 [informant] => phildel [notes] => [ihome] => 1 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => SadPoetry )
|