no more a pretty young whore
with which the men can satiate
the women accuse and adore

best days behind you
like the wall of the alley where you sold
content, where seed was spent

knees scabbed forever, lips stained red
the rise and fall of your sagging chest
sleeping undead

what more can you offer, yet you continue to sell
dried tears on your rouged cheeks
at the shattered ball, you are the belle

enjoy your last supper, bathe away your sorrow
give us that scarred grin, whore
this is your final tomorrow