Opaque Harlot

Quarter past midnight she silently skulks the forsaken streets Dressed in a jet black trench coat cloaked by horrific flashbacks Suppressed within a harrowing masquerade of profound sorrows Daunting tears of shame gently ooze from the roots of her tear ducts Uncontrollably they trickle down the surface of her somber cheeks A majestic shadow of fear trails behind her in the swift breeze Stalking her every breath, her every word her every move And every quirky little rhythm of her eccentric groove You see in this woman's eyes love was such a rare concept Every night she gave away what men thought was true love Yet in reality their imaginations were running away with the wind Every word that was said, every emotion that was bled all fake This kind hearted woman was loved for someone who she wasn't Around her town she was labeled the queen of the mattresses But underneath is it really worth sacrificing her integrity? Is it worth ruining her identity, her dignity, her self esteem? Tell me where is the sense in selling herself to the dogs? And giving them permission to violate her rightful privacy Her cranium had blatantly been rocked too hard against those sheets And now she has lost herself along with the rest of the harlots All because she sold her soul to the shaft of Satan'spenis By Glenn McCrary © 2011 (All rights reserved)