Prostitutes In Missing People

The Midnight Man looks out upon a gloomless sky
However the gloominess still resides deep within
He remembers other nights
With those Midnight Girls he calls his own.

Calls his own…. Ha!
Since when does calling your own mean taking
And when taking means to be having
And when having means to be brought.

He will get up
like any normal man
He will eat
like any normal man
He will work
like any normal man

There is nothing normal about a “Human Pet”
That it’s only ambition is to be brought by a keeper.
As long as the keeper keeps his prices right.

*Clap*
Goes his hands and so
*Clap*
Goes hers, yet he will keep on clapping
*Clap*
*Clap*
*Clap*
Goes another one.
To add to this Infectious Cycle

Like a washing up tablet in her system keeping her clean
from only the visible bacteria.
Clean with gloves does better as you thought so,
but gloves can split leaving her infected with everything
under the sun.

When the Midnight Man goes to bed
No true realisation of feelings or else’s recognised.
All he feels is pleasure from something painful to bare
witness an occasion of “Love making”
How can you “Love” after a 10 minute drive?

As quickly as he came, he left.
Leaving a girl to return to where she can crawl on top of the next one.
Crawling. Weeping. Or what were tears on her face.
Tissues, instead of her, will be put in replace.

The Midnight Man.
Just one man.
Truth is there are Midnight Men.
Alas Midnight will end, so live another rising lie.