I am your showgirl,
the pretty one
with a sleigh-bell laugh,
whom spoke only when spoken to.
I am your accessory,
arms around my waist,
to add to an image
already destroyed by reputation.
I am the prize,
the trophy,
the girl you have touched
and the one you have kept.
I am your girl you rung
the morning after,
your selfish pleasure,
the first call
when you're in need of satisfaction.
I am your object,
your porcelain doll
with moon-shaped eyes,
you keep in a cabinet
for all to admire.
As not only was i beautiful
in your eyes,
but also possessed
a public attraction
worth using for yourself.