women weep in secret
lying cold along the trail of
your passionate throes

we are but transient jesters
entertaining the judging,
hungry eyes of your court

but our soft white flesh
will soon no longer
feed your rotted soul

you grow tired of our
soft voices, our dimpled smiles,
legs tangled in your bed
once we are no longer new
you start the hunt again

i pity the one who will
follow me in line
tossed harshly into our weary world
that no longer saw you
in a golden light

no, i will not weep for you
but instead throw you to the wolves
and cast you out into the night
in hollow darkness
where you belong.