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"Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, it just has to touch someone where your hands couldnt."

-Rudy Akbarian
Snags in her tights,
Chipped black on her claws,
She stands against walls,
Vulnerable to the brawls.

A skirt grazing her thighs,
Too small for her liking,
She pulls at the seems,
And feeds the old men lies.

Lips that bleed,
Mascara stained cheek,
Frame too slim,
She's in the gutter, sensual and meek.

Lady of the night,
Rolls to your car,
beckons you with her finger,
hopes you won't linger.

A ten note slips,
Into her grip.
She squeezes.
It will feed her addiction.

She has money to pay,
Children to feed,
She digs her knuckles so much they bleed.

Life carries by,
As she tries to get high,
On the fumes of other men.

But the red light comes on,
Her skirt hitches up,
She cries as he whispers
good girl.

As he kisses her neck,
She thinks what the heck
Am I doing with my **** awful life,
Selling cheap love,
To father above,
In hope she gets a better price
than the tiny sum
From every business bloke that comes, beckons her into his arms.

She pulls at her pleather,
At her last tether,
Why am I in this life?

Soho's her home,
But it leaves her numb to the bone.

She has more than budget passion,
She craves style,
She fashion.

But instead the needle pierces,
And she sinks down,
Hating the body she's in,
Women walk and they frown,
But they don't understand how the girl feels deep down,
She just wants true love.

Oh heaven above?
If there is a Holy Spirit,
Let me be it,
For this withered young *******,
Belongs in your constitute,
Please, she begs, save me from the charity brutes.
The trees will still sway,
Sun shall still rise,
The far away lights above us,
Will still shoot away.

The grass will grow,
The seasons will change,
daisies shall be covered,
In a shroud of snow.

I will still gaze,
Still breathe,
wistfully, hope dream.
Whether you're here,
Or vanished in the haze.

The globe will keep rotating,
Until it gets engulfed,
The clouds
still make shapes,
boats will carry on floating.

All will stay the same,
Whether you're my love or not,
Nothing will change except,
The feeling deep within,
that it was in fact me,
to blame.
Books are reliable folk,
They'll remain in your hand as you have a ****.

The pages don't mind markings,
The bindings are okay with carvings,

The letters will always remain,
Even if, your holy grail is left out in the rain.

Their secret meaning can be read
in the solitary of your head.

Or your favourite piece, shout aloud!
Yell it to a crowd.

Weep as your character's love departs,
Flick through it with a careless heart.

Keep it in your back pack,
Or glare at it on your iPad.

Your trusty friend 'book'
Is always willing for you to prise it open,
and take a long, hard look.
As the dark closes in,
So do my eyes,
As the blanket covers,
Unveiled are the lies.

The glove of twilight envelopes,
Giving a subtle heat,
These long winter nights
However make me weep.

The curtains are pulled,
The blinds are shut,
And inside the turmoil
I'm stuck in a rut.

The blanket of cold,
Starts to pull back,
We begin to wake,
The shriveled thoughts. Attack.

These streetlight, fog evenings,
The moment the switch is off,
Nothing is enough.
Maybe, just one day,
I'll open my mouth, and,
not ruin it all.
Maybe having such a long title is cheating.
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