Whore Child

Sleek black leather against white skin,
Blood red lips, the colour of sin.
Fishnet tights beneath short skirt,
All these things disguise her hurt.

Men around her, strewn like litter,
The memories of her past still bitter.
They want her because she's easy,
Laid back, beautiful and sleazy.

Once she was a little girl,
Dressing in her mother's pearls,
Now she makes her feelings numb,
To hide from what she has become.

Appearing confident, she struts,
Passers by all shouting 'SLUT!'
Under makeup, under leather,
Her heart needs putting back together.