STRIP CLUB

The room is dark
The music loud
The audience is tense
A woman appears
Takes small steps

On high heels
I look at her face
Eyes are empty
She begins to sway
But each step rehearsed
Routine
Without meaning
She counts the beat
As she removes her clothes
As a machine
No joy, no love, no life
I look at the crowd
They all look alike
Cold eyes
No signs of life
Of hope
Not even lust
She is finished
Naked
But no more revealed
Like nothing has touched her heart
I leave staggering
Like a survivor of a disaster