A broken doll, a millionaire's plaything
So easily replaced, there's a roaring trade
A cold eye flits over her, a pang of regret?
Perhaps a conscience?
The silk tie re-knotted around his neck
His suit sharp and sleek
He runs his eyes over a new doll
So many to choose from these days
Choices are options, a dark chuckle from within
Just like a famous burger joint – he wants it his way
His conscience is silent, it's helped him become rich
He makes his choice, lays down his coat
Smiling, he settles for the wait
"I'll do it my way" he whistles softly through his teeth
The new doll is wrapped up and handed over to him
A thick card, certificate of ownership, a limited edition no less
Another card with her name, other details...all pre-ordered
Once payment is made, he is handed a leash
Humming under his breath, he leads her away
Whilst far away, a mother’s heart breaks for her lost daughter
Handing the leash to his assistant, he chuckles once more
Thinking about Sid Vicious’s version of the song...
Maybe, that version would be more appropriate?
Gerald So reads "My Way":
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Caz confesses: "This poem was inspired by human trafficking. In this case, women provided to the person with the most money and are treated abhorrently. They become disposable like a toy – easily replaced and not considered a human being but rather a commodity."
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