You filthy whore, taken by Time’s old trick,

You stand along the streets baring your ass,

Waiting for some young fool’s fawning caress;

And on your knees you’ll kiss that thorny dick—

For what, for what? Your cheapened cunt is slick

In pay for cash, your attitude so crass;

Your helpless call so sultry, to impress.

They come to you, and you can’t choose or pick.

Your body, rutted in a rented bed,

Is burnt by shame you do not feel. They curse

You when you do not sate. And so, instead

Of ecstasies climaxing high above,

You let your tits be scarred by living dead.

You’ll writhe and moan for those you do not love.


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