Up, the staircase went somewhere,
For centuries, they lay vacant and bare.
Once, many moons ago, these were thronged with visitors galore,
Making a beeline for the residents that dwelled on top floors.
Willing to pay the price; laying bets for the prettiest,
The business of flesh was at its busiest.
Famed brothel, now, without a single life living in it,
A bloody story of gun-shots silenced it for eternity.
For, when bets are lost, and money-debts soared higher,
The chaos brought forth, crimes murkier.
While now, all that exist, is deafening silence,
The spirits of those killed, still surrounds.

This post is for friday fictioneers and magpie tales 301 ( Image Copyright – © Amy Reese/photo by Ed Ross )
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  1. Live by the sword, die by the sword, I guess. Or I guess the prostitutes just got too close to the gun wielding types.

    Great story. Come see mine here.

  2. last line is damn good!

  3. That last line sends vibrating waves, goosebumps to the rest of the poem. Maybe this is why the place stayed "vacant and bare."

  4. "This woman of yours, is she worth it?" Worth dying for...


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