Tag: prostitute

Flogging

Published on by Sarah DruryLeave a comment

This was inspired by my old neighbour who used to sell her wares on street corners.

WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

Red hair blazing
Like a fuck me beacon
A barber’s pole but throbbing in male pants
Face a dot to dot of drug induced acne
Parading your heroin chic
Decency don’t mean shit

You never keep your legs shut
Self employment makes it rather draughty
And as a small business you should
Protect your assets
But you can’t get insurance
On gynaecology

Hanging around on seedy corners
Perverts cruising, risking a bruising
Chancing chancers
You don’t know, you don’t know
Flogging your fanny today
Digging your grave when the sun
Mourns your demise
And the dealers
Mourn their suicide pockets

A fuck for the addiction of heroin culture
Shame when your fanny is a currency
You pay in dirty needles
And white powder lines of escapism
For a few moments you’re out of here
Shooting up in Nirvana
Profits in your greedy veins
Coke up your wannabe Beyonce nose

I wish I could help
And the churches say that
No one is beyond redemption
But you’re lost to the devil now
You sold your soul for a moment of heaven
And found your sanctity
In the arms of an addictive addiction
Bride of a heroin fix

©2020 Sarah Drury

Night Nurse

Published on by Sarah DruryLeave a comment

WARNING: EXPLICIT THEMES AND LANGUAGE. 18+

I used to live in an area frequented by prostitutes. It was quite tragic as many of them were doing it to feed a drugs habit. It got me thinking about how hard hit they must’ve been, and also risking their lives. Please don’t take offence at the keyworker bit, it is tongue in cheek. i am not demoting of the role of keyworkers!!

I stand on the
Quarantined corner
Have been doing for
Quite some time
Flogging my nether-nethers
Fucking Coronavirus!
Knocking my business
Out of line

You try having a screw
Two metres apart
Social fucking distancing
And don’t even start
On the hygiene
When has this game
Been about keeping
Fucking clean

You can’t
Wash your hands
After every sordid punter
Loitering around
On a dirty street corner
Hand sanitiser
Doesn’t work on dicks
Risking my life
For a handful of
Dirty pricks

Try giving a blow job
In a surgical mask
Most of these men
Want it
Hard and fast
They look for an
Adrenaline pumped up
Danger screw
And I’m one of
The only few

Have to keep working
Can’t claim the
Coronavirus benefits
Don’t have any tax returns
Government can screw it
If they think I’m
Paying tax
On a few
And far between
Fuck
In these testing times
Finding a punter’s
A matter not of business
But suicidal luck

Call me a maverick
Boris
I bet you’ve had
Your share
Screwing in hotel rooms
With blue rosettes
In your Tory hair

And on Thursday nights
I can stand with pride
And revel in the applause
For I am a keyworker
Boris
Not just one
Of your filthy
Whores

©2020 Sarah Drury

Anatomy of a Whore

Published on by Sarah Drury6 Comments

Anatomy of a Whore

I am married to the vicious night
To the ceaseless ebb and flow
Of wanton lust
Disguised as need.
Men come, men go
Men shamelessly use
And sometimes heavy handedly abuse
This street-savvy woman
Vulnerable
Predator target
A please fuck me,
but fuck you areshole façade.

The seedy punters
Pick and mix
Assortment of life’s distasteful confectionary
Mostly past its sell by date.
Scraping the bottom of the broken biscuit barrel
These broken men
These desperate men
These misogynist men
who throw ten dollars at a vagina
and want their Las Vegas jackpot payout.

I am human
Dehumanised
Anatomy a cheap commodity
Beaten
Bruised
Abused
No finer than a well done steak
Tender flesh, Tasty but tasteless
a personal sex doll
but impersonal,
pecked away by a cooperative of vultures.

I am a woman.
I have feelings.
I bleed.
I bruise at your fickle fists
I hurt when you call me
Bitch
Whore
Hooker
Slut
I hate the smell of you
I hate the taste of you
I hate the sense of you
I hate you
I hate myself.
Fuck you.

But I am an economic casualty
For whatever reason
I need this
A piece of me dies with each punter
Who has a piece of me
Yet I need this
To survive
To live.

© Sarah Drury 2019