Reality of whores.

Reality of whores.

Is spilling blood for poor blind whores
more noble than crucifying men for paying women
who sell themselves in scores
never unburdening pimps of perpetuated moral spin

Do opiates quench harsh pain of ruptured dignity
more effectively when cut with brick dust
does it feel, as it curses home a tad gritty
crunching alien noise with each deep plunger thrust?

Poivrettes are but a few steps from becoming ladies if ill repute
but what of the poor child fucked before she drank?
terrified for life by her fathers prying fingers and bludgeoning boot
kicked through adolescence labelled by coping classes as a wretched skank.

Hiding horrid whores shall curtail it's propagation
denying users ease, only marriage shall appease so
guffawed blue blooded Tories, leaders of our nation
defining strategy with a lack of it, their uptakes commonly slow

Respect should be reciprocal breaking barriers of class
for trust is sure a seed to cure evil cancer of lust
secured in my back bedroom away from innocents who pass
on kerbs and corners wondering why such exposed bust

might be appropriate in such nippy cold.
Indoors now, no car parks or bushes. 'Clients' by appointment only,
unglamorous, flopping back bulky business mans fatty fold
rolling a slimy prophylactic down a tiny shaft in her tired lips
but better now, than standing on her spot, vulnerable and lonely.