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Friday, March 19, 2010

Counseling with a prostitute


Another glass of margarita, no may be a tequila

To get through the night and its vile beasts

They walk in, they walk out; but not me

No; not tonight, not till dawn


Here comes another, it’s been a hectic ride so far

Can I keep on? I have to,

It’s not as if I have an option otherwise

Each has their own part to play


This one seems to stand out from the rest

With his weary eyes and forgotten gaze

They say that a man’s eyes talk better than his mouth

So far they have told me nothing but the truth


And I laid down inviting him in, inside

But he seemed confused as he sat beside me

He was questioning himself, reaching for the stars

It was another that he was seeking; not what I had to offer


This was not what I expected, the watery eyes

Usually they are filled red with lust

But in him I see otherwise, something unlike

Something I’ve never seen,

throughout all these lonely nights


He looked ragged in his shabby clothes

And worn out with his passive presence

Something about him made me sad

His mere sight reassured my feelings


I tried to comfort him, as I laid my hand on his back

He looked alarmed, yet he accepted it

He pierced in to the depths I hide deep inside

When I asked him “what’s wrong?”

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