Slut

She walks up to me and perfume mixed with paint twists through my senses. Her fingers are stained with something, multicoloured and exotic looking, her long thumbs pushing through the worn holes in her sleeves.

Her hair is damp from the drizzle, starting to curl and framing grey eyes and clear skin. Her mascara is dark, dramatic and beginning to trickle from the corner of her left eye. She looks cold; hardened, detached, uncaring.

She asks for a cigarette; I ask for her heart.

Months later, I have given her everything; mind, soul, life... in return I get her body.