Whore

I let you take my body for the smallest of price

The illusion of love from your heart shaped device

The opioid bliss of making “love”, a sweaty vice

I tried to convince myself it was okay

A strong-minded woman knows all the games to play

But that crazy thing called love gets in our way

Our nature is nurture, yet love is torture, casual is easy for the foreseeable future

Fighting feelings with shady dealings, pain begets pain until it feels like healing

When my illusion is reeling, I see you are stealing, and my heart screams for repealing

I painted bloody words in a contract with my soul

You were just thinking about a warm, wet hole

Our terms and conditions perpetually null

I gave you my all

You made me your thrall

I’ve never been conquered by something so small

I know it’s my fault, for I was the whore

Dealing with feelings is your sorry chore

I’ll just mop these tears off the floor

Under my breasts is a heart still beating

These scars season the skin you’ve been eating

And in my mind are words worth repeating

For I see too many kings in need of unseating

Thank you, I say, with my wry, clever smile

Your scepter of “power” stole all your guile

As you try to manipulate me with words of denial

I know it’s my fault, I gave you my power

Allowed your pollen to poison my flower

Can’t scrub off your stain in a steaming hot shower

The words you should hear, my dear, are ones to hold near

For it is time to change, too many cocks in this range, the world is far too strange

The girl who you spread, is one you should dread, her rose still has thorns painted in red

I am tired of lies, weary of the cries, my eyes too dry, as you burned my thighs

No more chances, quick romances, tired of dances, and empty entrances

No more words, now unheard, my insanity absurd, time to leave this herd

How many women can be called a whore?

How many men get to “shop” in our store?

What is the price of this pain we have bore?

Trying to fill up every hollow

Bitter salt emotion in every swallow

As we say I love you, to any who follow

Where is our Madonna with a golden crown?

We strive for perfection to her renown

Yet fall woefully short, face in the ground

How many men can make women the clown?

Is a virgin needed around these days?

There’s plenty of whores to teach us their ways

Smiling and thanking any hungry gaze

“Money can’t buy happiness”, is an empty phrase

Sex and money, making love a passing craze

You don’t need to get paid to get laid, but it’d be nice if your john stayed

We’re all afraid, to die enslaved, yet everything is judged by someone as depraved

I can’t wear the mask

In your charms, I won’t bask

It is time for me to master my one simple task

I forgive you for hurting me

I forgive you for using me

I forgive you for me

You have nothing that I could need

Yet, I am thankful for the lesson I didn’t heed

The smartest whores know when to stop doing the deed

Maybe Nietzsche is right, maybe God is dead, maybe it’s time for the Feminine Godhead

Maybe the whore will rise from the dead to become the Madonna exaulted instead

 

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