The Cost of Casual Love
Is any job worth the Price of selling your morrels

The Cost of Casual Love
She stands beneath a borrowed light,
painted lips, a careful smile,
men pass through her like passing weather,
never staying, never seeing.
They call it easy, call it choice,
as if the night had asked her name,
as if she woke and wished for this,
this quiet ruin dressed as need.
Coins fall where kindness should have been,
hands reach without a single thought,
and she becomes a fleeting moment,
not a person, not a heart.
She remembers when her voice was hers,
when touch was not a traded thing,
when love did not arrive in fragments,
and leave her colder than before.
There is a mirror she avoids,
it holds too much of what she knows,
eyes that carry tired stories,
and truths no one will ever ask.
Men leave with something they can forget,
she stays with everything they bring,
a weight that gathers, slow and certain,
until it presses on her breath.
She is not what they choose to see,
not the surface, not the lie,
she is a soul caught in a narrowing path,
where each step costs more than the last.
And somewhere deep beneath the night,
she still believes in something else,
but hope is thin, and breaking quietly,
under the cost of being unseen.

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About the Creator
George’s Girl 2026
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites



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