The prostitute

I have lived for too long,
Much longer than my soul,
It's urge to live, once, was very strong,
Until, filth and pain took their cruel toll.

It lies hard, cold, white and dead,
In a body soft, red and warm,
The smiles, the tears, it has let them fade,
On the face of it's pretended calm.

There's a stolen wish, to come alive,
Breathing, longing, living for you,
But the blood, the hunger has to survive,
Would you find me a body new?
© 2009 Rituparna Das