She struts her runway
Smile painted across her porcelain face
White lines of motivation still evident
In eyes turned green with age

This reignites with her demographic
Generous gentlemen

With tan lines across their left hands

Poison filled gazes
And inviting gashes split their mouths
They purr to her their requests
Which she is required to fulfill

To earn her lifestyle
Her compensation for a moral destitution

Twenty percent

And on to the next
Group of muddy stares and grotesque grins
Who are eager to hear what she has to offer
All sound mutes as she begins to speak

“May I take your order?”