UH ( / )

Falling In Love With A Prostitute

Would it be cruel to myself
If I were to fall in love
If we meet in her room
At two or three in the morning
After a telephone call.

I’m not one to be rude
Nor judgmental;
I’m not a person of prestige
Working his way
Through sophisticated ladies.

Loneliness and sorrow
Are delicately beautiful;
Dark eyes and hopelessness
Are magnets for the depressed,
I’m often obsessed
With people sadder than me.

And perhaps, it would be best
To know up front
My girl was sleeping
With all my friends.

User Rating: 4,5 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

She knows about the love than others it seems And you penned it with sadness.
A poem of pervasive sadness. The former is a travesty against love, itself. The latter is a circumstance I've experienced, though I did not go into it knowingly. That's less painful - but your poem posits knowlege of the latter. Depressing. Go for the latter, for even one night. Best I can do. A gram of sweat is worth a pound of spiritual progress. The former is a sin. A gram of gratification is scarcely worth a metric ton of remorse. Uriah, your poems reveal complexities which sometimes leave me reluctant to comment, but this poem is first-class. - Will
Uncommon by the topic of this peom but is beautifully written. Thanx for the comment on 'siezing my depression'. Im sober now from my sorrow but I used to struggle with self-confidence and my purpose in life. Takecare!