Warning: This poem contains a lot of mention to the aspect of being slutty. If you are a minor and not comfortable reading sexual content.Do not proceed.

The casual fling, just your hormones' cling;

Some nights you want, some days you ring.

I am just a thing, that will pass in a ding.

You're my king, but, I am just your swing.

I wanna be your everything, not the girl, at night, you bring!

Want to be the one wearing your ring. Alas!I am just your binge!

A sex toy can substitute, A dummy or even a prostitute.

Maybe its the pleasure to pursuit my dignity and repute.

I know it pleases when you receive my teases;

Even my heart freezes, when my body eases with your cheeses.

My body you love, my soul you shove.

But you say I am a dove, conceive me with an "I'm above.".

Funny I believe, even when I grieve;

Kisses did I thieve, Hopes will I weave!

And when you swiftly leave on an autumn eve,

Cleaving from my appeal, No longer can I feel.

And then verity strike, Much to your dislike,

'You' -I like, very much even to fight!

And then you strike, "You are not my type",

And I remember the hike, when, you said, 'me'- you like.

But I am not the girl you marry, just the one you carry!

Even that under cover you bury, why-nobody wants a doxy!

I am not your everyday charmer, just your night warmer.

It hurts cause: Bummer, You are still my Knight in shiny Armour!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quote:

"If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth."

-Sylvia Plath, the Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath.

Written for the good girls that got bad,

Written to let them know of their companions spread wide.

~Chaahat