When I was young
I danced with all the mirrors of my house
I danced with love
I danced for things I did not understand
I danced with passion
And hungered for his heart
That being so deranged and powerful
That I called art
Now as I dance
So frigid and alone
My body paints a portrait on the face
Of all those men
Whom in beauty are enlightened
The spotlight’s on
And I perform
In grace I move along
The lines of their desire
I’m dancing to the songs
Of lustful men in choir
To satisfy their hearts
I unleash my inner fire
I’m captive to producers
And the whims of those who hire
I milk their eyes from tears
I scratch their skin so hard it bleeds
I pinch their private parts they scream
But I still dream
This is the truth,
I’m hostage to this being so deranged
Objectifying sex in my career
Is this art?
The erotic notion of their inner craves
What about platonic needs?
Or is life nothing but a gentle sexcapade
On the banks of their collective inclinations
They punt eternally in waters deep and cold
A gondola ride with lustful aspirations
I still will dream
Butterflies do not lose hope
Floating above the ruins of my past
As time goes by
My moves decay
My beauty withers
A self inflicted mutiny
I’m thrown away
I shrivel in my own abode
Afraid to meet the world
I build my own cocoon
Hoping that again one day
That being so deranged
Will ask me out to play
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Character: 42/100
bohemiaspeaks 
Your sincerity is blinding in this one. It definitely casts a reflection I can identify with. Thanks for this.
I am sure I have never liked a post with the words “Eternal Erections” in it but your poesy is so honest and sad. My heart breaks from the shallow decline of pure intimacy and yet left hanging on your idea that as beauty fades hope still lives. I too believe that hope still lives.
Hostage is the one character I’ve fired in my life play. Happy to dance with the rest. Great experiment, by the way, I’m in.