Paid

You gift me chocolates,
not always,
it's only once in a month and sometimes twice.
How humble are you?
"May I?"
You ask me and command chivalry,
as if my consent really matters.
The walls in the room
have turned colourless,
the bedsheet hasn't been changed for days,
sleeping on dirt is a part of the business.
I vomit the chocolate
and wash off your sweat
from my body.
It has been a long day.
The last man enters my room,
he does not bother to pretend,
he pulls my hair,
throws himself upon my flesh,
"Fucking whore. Be my slave."
Biting every inch of my self-esteem,
he smokes a cigarette
after his erection is put to rest,
he picks up his phone,
"I'll be there in an hour darling."
I talk no more,
I hear no more,
I see no more,
the unfinished bottle of alcohol,
a tip for my satisfactory service.

©songbriti