Dead meat on a cold slab

She has the most amazing mind
And when she enters a room
All eyes fall on her voluptuous, curvaceous body
Lithe with an ever so undetectable skip of a 5year old.
At night she stares at her phone
Waiting to be remembered
To be soothed to sleep with I love you's and whatnots...
And she hears the noise of plastic being torn instead.
Disinterest, clear as day
In the dead of the night.
She's so used to these cycles
Of being wanted physically
But being rejected psychologically.
All of them wanting a fuck
But being very through at not being fucked.
Still hoping
To be seen
She lives.
Alone in bed, other times
She knows she's just dead meat on a cold slab
Impossible to be loved
As a woman
Ideal for consumption otherwise.
She dreams of death.