Flirting with the immature, exes and exes of friends, 

Men she knew to stay away from but did not, 

With not an ounce of self-respect, 

Reacting to crude whistles from those men with agendas, 

Those who saw her as an easy in, a mindless toy, 

Those who knew how to play her just right. 

Desperate for attention from anyone already known, 

Known to avoid, but incapable of doing so. 

Recycled, interest only from availability. 

And why else would they want her? 

She never asked herself what their game was, 

Basking in the sight of sadistic eyes, 

Men of illness, men without morals, 

Trying to secure a future by selling her body to those who already had it,

Or had wanted it eons ago and now saw an opening. 

No care for anyone but herself, 

Letting them play her, satiating their sick power trips, 

Being a trollop. 

Only an orgy of base self-interest. 

No love in existence, nor the foundations for any to grow. 

She condemned him for less than these men did everyday, 

Deranged fantasies all that made up their minds. 

Cheaters, liars, bigots, authoritarians, greedsters, 

Those she turned to for “advice,” flirting her ass off. 

A wonder she had any friends at all with morals like that, 

But these men were not her friends, only her inner circle users.