TORN (whore's story)
Tattered in the eyes of the gods.
Frailish heart in helter_skelter.
Life that promised the best seems to be in haste,
Day by day she drown in tears.
The world that glowed now sods.
Questions of doubt crisscrossing her delicate brain,
Could she open up and swallow her own children?
Will she persevere the pains and torture to let them live?
Whenever her wounds heal,
Her own machete cut it fresh.
Scars of uncertainty all over her face,
The then life giving dimples now forspeaks.
In every man's eye lies her lying beauty of the past.
To her the beautiful sun seems so scotching,
She burry her doubts of life whenever she rises,
But the gleamy moonlight and the flaring stars awakens her demons.
She finds her way to the dusky corridors,
Beckons at every being in trousers,
She wears a sickly smile,
That lures them to lust.
She has hopes that one day She'll dine with the kings,
Just like the story of Mary Magdalene and Jesus,
But are there good hearted people in the world today?
Cause everyone calls her names,
Who will feed her children if she doesn't trade?