To Work at the Moulin Rouge Would Probably Suck

i am a piece of meat.
sold in the market, to the beasts of flesh.
There is no value in my intellect
my personality
my spirit
my mind
my intelligence
my accomplishments
my connections
my tact
my education
all i have to offer is the tangible.
"what will it be today, sir?"
You can sell l u s t , but no one has ever fully been able to master love enough to constrict it to a marketable bottle.
make your life easy, but in the process, make mine nothing short of h e l l.
Who am i?
They tell me i am an asset to business, a number, a piece of equipment.
Where has my humanity gone? where did they hide my freedom and pride?
I was thrown into a dirty pit to smoulder in the ashes of your forgotten refuse.
what have they done to you?