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Senti Mental Oct 2018
Pretty little girl in red
Lying there upon the bed
Rememberin’ what the madam said
Might as well enjoy it

Trying to think about
All the things she did without
Of course she has her doubts
Her story hard to admit

Dropping out of PHD
She is only 23
Life is just a misery
Her bank ain’t got much in

Not quite thinking straight
Next client worth the wait
Mr Smith or Master Bate?
Look but no touchin’

*** with the lights off
She never gets a night off
Teeth ripping her tights off
No regard for her wellbein’

Seeing regular faces
Powder in wrong places
Feeling like a disgrace
Life’s got no meanin’

This story only goes two ways
A regular job with regular pays
Or seeing out her final days
Before ending the story...
of her life.
Based on an article I read.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
I’ve been roped and doped
Also been ***** and taped.
I’ve been slugged and drugged
I was bugged, then I shrugged.

It is all just another day’s work
For a silly streetwalking ****.
It’s life without a single perk,
Pays less than a checkout clerk.

I keep changes of tight clothes,
Show off the body, anything goes.
Use a languid suggestive pose
No one questions, everyone knows.

Stand by a light pole and grin
Someone will quickly pull in
And ask if you’ll go for a spin
In half a hour, I’m back again.

If they seem to want to pass
Turn around and show some ***
I make sure I show some sass
And am sure to be smoking grass.

Sure I get picked up by the cops
But, this old story never stops.
It’s a tale as old as these shops.
It’s bad when the temperature drops.

Rain, sleet and snow, I’m around
Staking out my piece of ground
To see what trade can be found
Hunting for the everyday hound.

So drop by and see me any day.
I’m not like the sun, I won’t go away.
I’ll be here as you drive by to say:
“Hello, baby, want some fun today?
Ashley Black Mar 2017
And in the waves of confusion,
we laughed as life swept us off our feet.
And in the fire of destitution,
we claimed joy amidst the heat.
And despite all our tears,
and beyond all our pain;
We sought clarity,
and danced through our rain.
Pisceanesque Jul 2015
Falling fast down hovelled stairs,
digesting wealth to ransom cares,
grotesque men who soil and harrow
suspend my dreams from thinning rope.

As discharge weeps from places raw
and blisters burn a molten core,
another phallus, soiled and poisoned
wants for smack and *****’d ******.

I bleed from wounds so deep within
of pain so stark and crude and raw
that pins me ‘neath the brine of sin
like drowning prey in ***** and ****.

I fail to dim the moving shadows:
those twisting jerks of spewed release –
but coming soon will silent growls
of dripping fat and blistered guilts.

Voiced within me, vague and distant,
something cries, yet tears withdraw.
Copious unheard pleas are buried;
here lay I, unknown, destroyed.

To burrow past unhuman men
(to further seal a keyless lock)
would ‘splay me in the public eye,
exampled, maimed, defeated; lost.

Phlegm and fur may line my mouth;
engorged, my lips, a ***** for more.
But somewhere deep inside myself
I’ve walked away from Brothel Shore.
© Tamara Natividad
Written 18 October, 2009

— The End —