I aimlessly keep starring at the stars,
Every night hoping they would perform,
Some sort of magic to make me escape,
From this life that I go born into,
My generations have been serving men,
Satisfying their **** all night,
But none of those men have ever,
Satisfied our **** for a peaceful sleep,
I too like my mother,
Followed her footsteps into this trade,
And my daughter would also fall in here,
Is this what we are,
Going to do all our lives?
Releasing the heat of others into us,
Is this not classified as a sin,
In the book of gods?
Where one body is gratified and,
The other is buried without even dying,
I just keep looking at the broken ceiling,
Eyes wide open and lying like a mortal,
While the customer is performing,
Now I have also lost count of how many men,
Quenched their inner thirst with me,
I am dead inside, I am dead outside,
Yet I still do not understand,
Why does the moon still come looking for me.
Just have attempted to describe a *******'s plea of sadness in this poem.