some

one's

whore.

She

Had

Dreams.

Once.

Of finding happiness beneath a willow tree

Or something like that

Feeding a sick old woman with

Pink lipstick glimmering

While a poet watched and

Wrote all about her

Composed a stream of words about her purity

That he bounced off ripples to make special

Published in books with pictures of her face.

She

Had

Dreams.

Once.

She dreamt happily that she was faintly pretty

In love with some stranger that

Sent her flowers,perhaps

When she was still a little girl

Dreaming that she would be a role model

for children who'd look up to her

Follow her

Innocence.

Not

much

chance.

Now.

She stands on street corners looking

oh-so-beautiful-and-sexy,

numb-to-opinion-and-come-and-get-me

her eyes covered in blackest make-up

her lips painted a bright blood-dripped

scarlet.

As she prays inwardly for one more man

One more coin

Though she is tired,knackered and

She has a queue of customers stretching down the street

The only girl

That knew for sure

There would be no tommorow.Just tonight,and nothing more.

Her

Face

Is

Scarred

Her lips are bleeding constantly from the

Make-up hardening on them

It rains

Sometimes

Her make up runs and she looks more

Desirable than ever

With streaks of black and red pouring down

Her perfect unblemished face.

Under the make-up there lies a

Broken

Girl

helpless and defenceless.

She

Is

Dead

Inside.

She feels nothing but an accessory to

Brighten someone's popularity

She slipped into

This

Job

So gradually is wasn't noticeable.

Her handbag is black glittering fur

Hung on her weary hand of painted

Golden nails

Sharp as claws so that she might

Do nothing with them.

She

Is

Beautiful

But she longs to be ugly.She longs for no man to ever look

Her way again.

She

Is

Miss

see-through-stockings-and-streaked-mascara

by dawn.

She runs away

So her

Customers cannot pursue her and she stands

At her corner again.Signs.And all.

Many customers come again but she regonises no-one.

Yvette.

Broken

Limbs

Of an innocent child within the body of

Herself.

someone's

Sexy

Whore.

She is

Purple sobs when the night draws in

Purple bruises when

Dawn breaks.

She is pointless tears

And as many cups of tea as her tongue

Can cope with.

She had dreams.Once.

She would dream from her schoolroom on the windowsill

Wooden

and

scarred from her many ideas chalked into it

She was going to be

Faintly pretty

Qualify for a saint

And never marry even though she callculated that many men

would like her to marry them.

She was going to

Bring the world back to

happiness with her smile.

She

Had

Dreams.

Once.

and now.She is broken,she is a shadow of herself.

some

one's

whore.