.This.Is.Not.The.Life.For.Me.

Standing beneath the streetlight
on the corner of the alley
where it meets the street,
like a vein reaching a bloodline.
This life...
It isn't the life for me,
but I no longer know how to get out of it.
Cars go by, and then one stops.
It's dark, but the harsh glare of the streetlight,
shows me that it's blue,
and the window, tinted almost black,
rolls down, to reveal this man.
"How much for an hour?" he says, as though he can buy me,
[[though not entirely untrue]]
And I give him a price.
He tells me to hop in, and I do.
I obey him, like he's my master,
thinking to myself 'Why do you do this?'
like there's an answer hidden in my head somewhere.
We arrive at a small, obscure hotel,
and he pays for an hour in a grungy little room.
Laying beneath him,
I should recieve an award for this acting job.
I feel him, groping at me chest,
Trying to lick my breasts,
like I'm actually enjoying this.
If I didn't have bills to pay,
and a child to support, I wouldn't be here,
but surely he knows that?
As he reaches his climax,
I have an urge to talk,
To just let it all out...
But that's not what he paid for.