[patrown]

pearl looked out the only window and peered at a vacant mat,
wishing her time was taken, but she patiently sat,
on a mattress with clean sheets, wipies, shades drawn tight.
she liked it there. it's where she'd stay all night.
a product of parents conduct or a red light distraction,
it's still sometimes the only way for social interaction.
other days, bumps and grinding kept her head simmering,
and a withering mind left her soul shivering.
survived her mothers death, heard her voice clear as day,
"there's nothing else left for you honey.."
..through tears she used to say.

using fears to guide the way through life's bitter frontiers,
she paved the road to perdition as a slave for a period,
celebrated the rag, renovating her pad for the experience,
rearranging her house of whores made it feel mysterious.
bags of tricks grew snakes she blew that spit on command,
or for five bucks she'd go full contact with hands.
but walking the walk left her legs with spots and bruises,
fought a losing battle that soon interrupted her sessions,
with hysterical fits of laughter ending in hard learned lessons,
amusing Rus, who watched her settle into a rut, her depression.
so he waited til he knew she couldn't fight back,
finished and grabbed her keys, left no chance to react.
stopped a scream with a glancing blow and grabbed at her throat,
pinched both sides so hard her tongue made her choke.
time hung for a moment before her chest heaved and she gasped,
rus spoke, "that's the last time you'll ever talk back, I promise."
she just bowed her head and said "Ok," astonished.

never liked the blow, before he served her the purest,
now her only hopes circled around spoons, she's nourished,
with protein by lonely dope fiends in tattered clothing,
covering her beloved furniture with splatters slowly.
now she's feasting on crumbs of ceiling acoustic,
searching for the self she lost, feeling useless and depleted.
confused and hopelessly defeated for reasons she couldn't fathom,
never sober enough to remember being capable of orgasms,
searching for lost morsels, tossed morals in a trash can with infants,
remorsefully crawling on hands and knees her only gainful instinct.
some customers finished before attention was away from the deed,
just a word and he'd usher Pearl back to bed, make the water bleed,
plunger pushing deep in her arm, never thought to leave.
only time she'd ever smile in the end was for a hot shot,
drifting slowly into a scene with her mother, playing hop scotch.