by Christine M. Joseph
I'm just another whore, aren't I?
I spread my legs to eagerly invite
without a care for the genuine love growing outside
I endanger all I crave by my senseless action.
I can see his eyes now,
contempt and disdain
distaste
for the woman
he thought he knew.
A whore shouldn't care this much,
a whore doesn't love anything
but the need to fuck
and be fucked
How can I live with myself?
Why should I ...