Mannequin

You knew I was crap at everything.

I can't dance, I can't sing, I can't act, I can't write, I can't do maths, I can't commit, I can't think straight...
I'm not like them. I'm not smart.

But you pulled me aside. You called me special, and the worst thing? I thought you meant it. You lied so poetically, so carefully, so beautifully... You lured me in like a mouse to a trap. Boy, did it work.

I was your mannequin. You used me. But that's not the worst bit. You sold me like I was a burger. A piece of meat. It broke my heart to see all the deluded girls like me fall for your charm, on the street, cigarette in mouth, soul in your hands. You stripped us of all we had: our dignity. You made us sleep with men we didn't know and you beat us when we tried to run away. All of us. What could we do about it? Nothing. You held us tightly with the power of drugs, drugs and the promise of something better.

I'm still scarred. Physically from where you hit me, mentally from when you'd sleep with me. You said you loved me. Now I know you were thinking of the next girl you'd fuck.

So here I am, AIDS ridden, in a dingy alleyway. I hold the most delicate needle in my hands. A path to a undignified end, I suppose. I know you don't care. You'll never be sorry.

Goodbye, world. Especially to you, Rob...