Life, Not So Freely Chosen
She, fluttering in vulgar decadence
round the soft amber sodium street light
at once pounces upon a likely chance.
Earning enough to score later that night
perhaps a little angel dust or coke,
lessening the drudge of life's dreary fight.
Pleasuring a stranger, some pervy bloke,
to buy a piece of sweet oblivion
on which she prays to hell she may well choke.
Long ago she had crossed the Rubicon,
so for her, sadly there is no way back;
the stench of the road she'd chosen clung on.
No shining future ... should she just attack
the gift of life she was given, unasked ?
Screw it, hump it, thump it, turn it dark black?
Will death swoop down upon her soon, unmasked?