Regret

Regret, all too late
sold to whoredom not fully
grown
the only thing she ever owned.
taken, not for love or pay
put to satisfy the insatiable
in the loins of men.

She lies back on her bed of
thorns.
flesh once creamy pale
now putrid with corruption
the fall, a ride against the tide
the landing a disruption

a knock.
She wipes away
twelve year old tears
from her aging face
and bids another man
into this killing place.

-Dave Kavanagh

10
10000

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