Prostitution

An opened lid reveals aromas of festering emotions

As the gag reflex is held by hope and determination.

They call her the diamond in the rough,

But they never explain the rough is pride destroyed.

Yet, the devil said it was here.

The diamond.


Skin can be washed,

And so the buttons slowly come undone -

The unraveling, an invitation for odors to collide.

Soles, socks, pants, t-shirt, underwear.

If pride must be destroyed,

Then nudity should be expected.

Toes sink into slime lathered in liquid.

A strange sensation that grows on you

Like wine licking the tongue.

Heaven forbid getting a little nasty.

But the smell doesn’t agitate anymore.


The hands guide the body into the darkness,

Grasping through boxes, plastics, and rubbery substances.

Perhaps chewed gum or used gloves.

The mind ponders the difference.

They both enhance the illusion of cleanliness,

Protecting from bad decisions,

And both are best if not swallowed.


One bag, opened, spills out bras, panties, lingerie, slips.

A woman’s old clothes or a chest of memories?

Either way, they soak where the feet stand.

Fluids that cause one to look for wash bins

Out of guilty conscience or necessity from usage.

Tossed from skin to bin,

How important are these items?

Throw them to the corner;

Worry about them later.

Where’s the diamond?


Dig a little deeper and there’s an uneaten donut.

Mushy, moist, musing.

Spoiled rotten, but able to be spread apart.

Fingers stretch the center until it is no more.

Leave it to the flies,

The devourers of the trash heap.

Where’s the diamond?


Plastic containers full of jello shots.

The liquor rancid, but still drinkable.

If they weren’t drenched in garbage,

They could be sucked from their containers.

Liquor is better with age.

Liquor would stave off the reality of this situation.

How long did it take to erect this condition?

How long will it take to find this diamond?


Hands thrust trash from one position to the other.

Nothing can be seen.

There is the thought to toss them into the street,

But no one should have to clean up garbage

After it’s placed in the bin.

One misstep and a bottle squirts juices into the face.

Don’t panic, don’t panic.

It was made for such abilities.

But now the body is covered in everything.

What’s worse is the pores have opened up.

Sweat dripping into whatever makes the body hot.

Is it temper? Is it effort? Is it pleasure?

Who knows...

But if the body is opened,

Mind as well get on all fours like a doggy

And puncture through it all for that diamond.


Heavy breathing sounds like moans after echoes.

How big was the bin?

How long was the time?

Which bags had been rummaged through?

The memory forgets,

Or rather, stores the information deep,

And it is hard to thrust them back to the front of the head.

Blow away the smell of rot, must, and alcohol.

Being winded in a place like this.

Misery at the fingertips.

But look, there it is. The diamond.


At first grasp, it is light.

Is it fake?

Breath upon the surface.

Watch the fog cover the gem.

Dissipate, dissipate, dissipate.

It took too long.

Try again and see the gem covered in foggy breath.

Remove the imprint.

Toss it away like a bad memory,

A poor experience after a night of delusion.

Cleanse the fog like sin after baptism.

Why doesn’t the breath test work!?


The fake.

Tossed across the bin to whence it came and shattered.

Much like the hope for finding the diamond.

The body kneels, drenched in mixtures of fluids.

All that searching and the result is still trash.

The bin is exactly what it is supposed to be.

An orgy of festering diseases, memories, and waste.

God, where are You in this place?


God stands beside the bin.

“Son, why are you in the trash?”

Panicked,

“The devil told me he threw Your diamond in here.”

A quick swipe into His white cloak,

“My diamond is right here with Me.

Kept safe for you when you’re ready to marry.”

Sullen,

“Lord, forgive me.”

How many times must the Lord sigh?

“Here, boy, your clothes.”

Ashamed,

“He made me do all this for a fake?”

How many times must the Lord forgive?

“He never had anything real for you.

This was all done to embarrass you.

Yet, hold your head high.

It’s okay.

I understand.”


Helped from the garbage, redeemed.

Patted on the back, comforted.

Chin lifted up, encouraged.

Pushed ahead, sanctified...


Never did He mention the smell.

Never did He laugh at the image.

Never did He mock the stupidity.

Never did He encourage to dig deeper.

He did tell the truth.

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