Paint heavily applied
a mask of your soul
Your face all dolled up
to entice men
A toy with a facade of seduction
to hide the anguish that drips from
your brushed up eyes
the shame that curls from these orbs like smoke
it's only a moment
an instance of touching
bodies, of pure naked flesh
simple really.

But why does one feel so cheap,
no matter the high expense
used,
it was your choice
possessed,
it's still your body -
You know.

desite all the paint, the rouge,
you remain like a hot-house flower
an orchid imprisoned in the luxury of its place
you are a maniken
a toy or bauble to show off and play with now and then
Giving your body, letting another bend it to their will for
just an hour or so; It should be nothing

but the paint doesn't seem to work...