Love for Sale

If walls could talk, we would tell untold tales of payments taken for love sold by the hour.

Accidental ecstasy, performative displays, and hidden affairs;

“Which party is which?” you ask, but the truth is hardly so clear.

Lost in a moment, magical romance abounds-

reflections from the mirrors on our paper thin walls-

looking deeper for meaning,

in fervent prayer; in nightmarish screaming.

A single bed hugs the walls tight:

A stage.

A grave.

A blanket of safety.

A place to rest tired heads through a 24/7 night.

Right by the hidden panic alarm that sits on the nightstand.

Pushed too far to the right, burly security guards come to protect and to fight.

Because the biggest man always wins

when one lives on this side of life.

A ‘woman’ by day,

her makeup just right

to play the part:

A Lady of the Night.

Behind closed doors when the shift ends, she sheds the mask,

adorning pillows with tears and her fists clenched tight.

Paper thin walls, like the old rusty heater.

She shudders in goosebumps,

grateful the cold makes the men finish quicker.

Paper thin walls, she hears each forbidden whisper,

each squeal and each scream,

shoving earplugs deeper

...longing for sleep...

Broken baggage stuffed in the closet with her stuffed bear,

so no one can see the truth of her here.

A discount budget with a starlet’s keen eye,

she deceives to achieve a higher station in life.

Indebted for now,

financial freedom promised forevermore

with each new client that walks through her door.

She knows the game.

She knows the lies.

A promise, sealed with a kiss,

adoring lovers in bliss,

She smiles a cherub’s grin and flutters her eyes.

Her youth she sells well.

She puts in her time,

just in time to find her commodity’s expired.

Elegant crown, crooked and worn,

Too sore to speak

or utter complaining words.

She looks to the mirror, into the pupils so black,

Her glimmering spirit faded; her magic traded for cash.

“A heart of gold,” they always say,

not knowing with each new transaction, she trades it away.

Our walls rattle, they bend, and they break.

They shapeshift and morph for her sanity’s sake.

We were called a safe haven, sacred space, and a prison,

depending on the view from each different position.

The mirrors hung high only reveal what's in sight,

the classic red bulbs shine through the moonlit night,

carrying the spirit of hundreds who have laid in its light.

A single window, looks out into the desert,

Where scorpions dwell and vultures molt their feathers.

The wild Mustangs run free;

A holy namesake and curse

for all those who profit from the disdained and perverse.

Luggage packed to the brim,

Gemstones, jewelry, designer insignias, and more,

Her red bottom heels take her to her final departure.

She leaves in triumph, with pride and remorse,

a bittersweet goodbye as she walks out the door.

Vacant for an hour, a day, and a week.

The cleaning crew comes to sanitize and bleach

the stains on the carpet and streaks on the wall,

ready for the next lover to come and to call.

A youthful thing comes in, vibrant and bright,

gazing at paper thin walls with hope in her eyes.

She sees the potential: an escape from her strife.

Dressed to the nines for the grandest debut of her life.

The clocks tick quietly

The callers ring the bell

The calendar year changes

as our walls become her Hell.

A cycle of death, a cycle of life.

Survival

Sacred healing

Seduction

Self betrayal

Our paper thin walls could tell it all for the right price.

But if you truly want our decades of secrets,

come see for yourself, and bring an ultraviolet light.