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Message: <blockquote data-quote="RaguXt" data-source="post: 8591500" data-attributes="member: 34088">Counselling With A ProstitueAnother glass of margarita, no may be a tequilaTo get through the night and its vile beastsThey walk in, they walk out; but not meNo; not tonight, not till dawnHere comes another, it’s been a hectic ride so farCan I keep on? I have to,It’s not as if I have an option otherwiseEach has their own part to playThis one seems to stand out from the restWith his weary eyes and forgotten gazeThey say that a man’s eyes talk better than his mouthSo far they have told me nothing but the truthAnd I laid down inviting him in, inside But he seemed confused as he sat beside meHe was questioning himself, reaching for the starsIt was another that he was seeking; not what I had to offerThis was not what I expected, the watery eyesUsually they are filled red with lustBut in him I see otherwise, something unlikeSomething I’ve never seen, throughout all these lonely nightsHe looked ragged in his shabby clothesAnd worn out with his passive presenceSomething about him made me sadHis mere sight reassured my feelingsI tried to comfort him, as I laid my hand on his backHe looked alarmed, yet he accepted it He pierced in to the depths I hide deep insideWhen I asked him “what’s wrong?”<img src="http://img222.imageshack.us/img222/2682/justinewalkingaway.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></blockquote>

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