The Lady of night

The wall in a dirty public urinal,
Plaster peeling,
Mouldy green fungus in its damp spots,
A smell of abuse by unknown men
Settling heavy in the puddles of pee around it,
Garbage of the mind strewn across
In crude graffiti and filthy sketches,
That wall is my body,
The body of the lady of the night.

My corpse stalks the night,
Its shadows permit others to believe
My cheeks still are rosy red,
My face yet unlined by a web of lines,
My flesh still firm, my breasts proud.
I dread the day, its bright light
Reveals the crumpled sheeets on my bed,
Across my pillows strange oily strands of hair,
Dark rings under my tired eyes,
The purple patch on my peeled off face,
The face of the lady of the night.

With the soiled notes clutched in my hands,
Forever damp with the sweat of the night,
For my daughter a dawn I try to buy,
Brick by brick,
Thrust by thrust,
Heave by heave,
Grunt by grunt,
While every morning I stand in the shower,
Trying to scrub off the stains on my body,
Till my skin is peeled and the flesh is chafed,
The stains run deeper and I scrub on and on,
Till there is nothing left of me anymore,
Except a bleeding, gaping hole
Streching infinitely between my legs,
This is what I have exchanged for a soul,
The soul of the lady of the night.