Used goods don’t go for a good price.
Well worn clothes store fond memories of past owners;
Used women carry the stench of past lovers.
Hand me down girls don’t have a choice;
Tear stained pillows and Half of a boyfriend,
Of a sinful nature.
They drink in their merry,
They smoke up oblivion,
Only to fall into
Occasional sobered up awareness.
No one will have them,
And they won’t settle for less.
Fairy tales may not be real,
But there is no price tag on dreams,
Nor jail time for idle wishes.
Till the next one comes,
They hope for a prince.
And then the spell gets broken all over again.