Poetry, is my form of Prostitution.

You'd rather hear me recite my moans while we fuck.
Then hear all these narratives I write.
In every punctuation, & every sentence I wrote,
Your name in disguise, Every lyrics I write.
I find you in between the lines. In every space you hide.
But you see, There's one similarity, in all of shakespeares' tragedies,
Every young lover dies.
Either poisoned, stabbed, or drowned.
Maybe because he realized,
some people are only meant to sleep together,
six feet underground.
You were always hard headed.
But now you carry the hardest piece of him between your legs.
& no matter how much I write, no metaphor,
can loosen the hinges or open the door.
You slammed in my face. But 3 words can open your legs, that's for sure.
So who needs guns to kill when you have words?
They do say the pen is mightier than the sword.
& as I spend my days searching for a lovesick cure,
you spend every night begging for more.
So when you contract his every disease.
Don't come begging for love on your knees.
Haven't you been on them long enough?
Isn't that where this story begun?