My story is like a harlot
Adjectives are her lipstick and fake eyelashes
Her smile is not vulgar as it tells my jokes
Her gaze is inviting as it shows my desires
Look at her heels its not the same as then,
I changed her name so you don’t complain
I even changed her eye color so she doesn’t look plain.
She walks in beauty,
But she talks only in duty
It depends on your mood sir,
She does overtime even you are crude sir
One sunny day she would want to fly
But all her wings will be drenched in her cries
Mirrors never told the truth,
We trusted your eyes rather your touch,
I never felt bad, but my story is a little slut
She wishes to go everywhere but she sulks much
Marry her, sir! She has suffered enough.
She might die soon she is fragile and her life had been rough.
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