Explicit. ❗❗❗🤬

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A spotless canvas - little covering.

Displayed with the flashing

lights and clangorous music.

The smell of

cheap beer,

loud pot,

and sheer lust

clinging to the air.

Music vibrates the stage.

The sound resonates

off of the pole

- as she clutches it

between her legs.

The canvas moves to the melody.

Empty.

Spotless.

Not without an impression.

Not without pain.

Beautiful.

Empty.

The dogs approach her,

lustful hounds wishing

nothing more than

to spray the canvas.

To leave their mark.

They howl beneath her,

gnashing their teeth.

They imagine.

They imagine.

They are empty.

They are hellish.

The canvas tunes them out.

She focuses on the peppermint

lingering on her breath.

Liquid courage.

Each dollar tossed to

the canvas only defiles her.

She feels disgusting.

She is disgusting.

She is beautiful.

They are disgusting.

The boy clacks away at his controller.

He will beat the boss this time.

Surely.

He wonders how the canvas is.

He is empty.

He is foolish.

He is nothing.

He is apathy.

Why does the canvas

save herself for him?

The man would strangle the boy,

watching the light drain from his hollow eyes - cursing him for his inaction as his lungs collapse under the rage.

The boy would slay the man,

make him pay for becoming a hound.

The boy would cut him down for his disloyalty.

For his lusts.

For his failure.

For his wickedness.

The canvas remains.

Scarred.

Scared.

Sacred.

Defiled.

Empty.

Beautiful.

Torn.

I am sorry,

my love.

You are an unfinished piece.

Every tear you shed

sparks a fire in my chest,

one day that flame

will consume me

- and I will love you fully.

Least I burn myself

instead by the sins

I carry within

my ashen soul.