I live in a whore house. 
It’s not the mere purchase of skin here. 
We have other products too 
And it’s all for free.

I sell lies.
And I charge 3 facades in exchange
One for you to pretend you understand me
One for you to think you know me
And one for you to agree with me

I know this guy.
He sells thoughts. 
He talks about souls with me. 
He believes we don’t have one. 
And I trade my mid day delusions with him.

There’s this other girl
She sells truth 
And people buy it in the currency of criticism .
They hate her. They judge her. 
Because she believes in nothing and everything.

This man I once came across. 
He sells smokes and puffs 
And he will ask for your attention in exchange. 
He sells his stories. His scars and sins. 
And we listen. We relate and contemplate

It’s a whore house. This world. 
And I am both a seller and a buyer. 
I will shred my layers for you
If you pick on my loose threads. 
I will take you out and buy you smiles 
If you free me out of this trade. 
I will catch you in your dreams
If you come and visit me in my nightmares 
I will sell you my hushed truths
If you promise to not return it in cold doubts.

Buy my lies. 
And you will see a token of unpolished raw self of mine
Packaged with my dried blood and sweat. 
I live in a whore house. 
And I call it my home.