The unnoticed death of a crack whore
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Drowning in misery and inverted
My eyes have seen the coming of the whore,
As it crept from inside out.
When it was beautiful in small amounts.
A vent for wild inhibitions,
Wishing she was special.
And confused wanderings,
On streets and corners.
On hands and knees,
Turn back clocks.
Naked she stands,
On ashes of Aids infested frocks.
Alone she cries her hands mangled,
From touching too much concrete.
God has died with your first child
The only sex you have now is in your sleep.
Head full of lice.
Crack burnt eyes bleed.
Dead skin and clotted blood.
Maybe tomorrow you’ll die.
I pray tomorrow you die
I pray tomorrow you smile
Like children; memories of self, long ago.
Smiling. Introverted happiness
Happiness stays here
Once again you fall to your knees
And kiss the ground and smile
As slowly, thankfully, you die.