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The Crime

posted 6/17/2010 9:36:25 PM |
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tagged: adult, poem

Dressed to the nines
In my hand-me-down clothes
Where I am going
Nobody Knows

Where I have been,
Nobody sees
A lifetime of lonliness
Down on my knees

Praying to God
For help; for a cure
But does he listen
To a soul that's not pure?

Ripped from the innocence
Of My teenage years
My only family and friends
Other hookers and queers

Lined up on a street
A strip of meat wares
Not pretending to be discreet
With their leering and stares

I'm picked once again
Who am I tonight, this time?
His paid by the hour girlfriend
Or the victim of His crime?

A few dollars in my pocket
On to the next score
Swelling around my eye socket
He punched this whore

It never ends
This cycle of ills
This cycle of sickness
For what? A few dollar bills?

Have to eat, Have to shoot
Have to get that next dime.
On second thought, it's me.
I'm the root of The Crime.


Just something I wrote after watching a good friend succumb to this lifestyle...


Copy & paste to friend: (Click inside box; Ctrl + C to copy; Ctrl + V to paste)

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The Crime
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post a comment!


Jun 17 @ 10:36PM  
Sigh.. it sucks to watch someone you care about going down that road.

Hiya Chris!

Jun 17 @ 10:36PM  
Er.. Kris.. I knew that.. sigh.. dumb fingers.

Jun 17 @ 10:41PM  
A heart full of soul in that sharing. Thank you for it.

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The Crime