Stop Calling Here

Haven't I told you once? More like a thousand. What syllable of the word FINISHED are you having trouble processing? You like it when I feel dirty, yes I've seen the look in your sick perverted eyes, the instant the deed is done; irrevocable, you start bleeding that smile of satisfaction. I think you get off on this cycle of misery. I shouldn't be surprised, because, I like it too. In a twisted sense of what's good and what's not, I like the feel of you on my skin. I like the way you slither in and out of me, it feels good to know there's nothing she can do about. It feels good to know that if she knew, she would feel better about the way we left. But I've told you a thousand times, and a thousand more, I am not dancing with you anymore.

Do you think you can drag me under again, and again, how long until I become a household name down there? Once I am welcome, I am a pariah. Drained, wasted, used up husk, tossed aside, to make room for the next John to waltz in and take his place. You think I don't know you keep trophies? I am like you, and let me tell you I've got my share of scars. But this is one scalp that you won't wear proudly. This is one face that won't grin out from your tzompantli. This is one man who won't stand at attention, or salute when your banner goes by.

But you still make you pitch, hawking your wares as hard as ever. Boasting about the quality of your goods, proclaiming the wonder of the two-for-one sale! A little guilt goes a long way. I am all out of your currency, a clean pair of pants is what I need most, and what you got, the missus won't have. It's funny how you can twist words so easily, twisting steel should be easier than turning truths on their heads. Beauty used to mean something, purity used to be worth more than your greasy bank-notes.

You're broken and you've lost, and what's worse, you know it. Like a man convinced that he can you fly, you'll keep jumping of the building. But when I look into your eyes, God help me, it's her eyes staring back at me, full of tears. Strange how the thought of the dead inspires a will to live, rather a desire to join them in sleep. I think you'll never really understand that fact.

And this is why you will fail, again and again. You may have skin, you may have blood, you may know how to grind and what to say. You may know the ropes, you may have the right shape, but you'll never have heart. You'll never know that most impressively erotic design; purity. You can't fathom a world without dirt. The very idea of people serving one another for no other reason than because they have more to give, is the mystery of all mysteries to you. The very act of life, the essential element of the beating heart is the antithesis of what you've built your empire on.

There is a name so wonderful, the very sound of it would blind you. There is a word that sparked the worlds, and you've drug it down to your level, the level of beasts, and you've covered it all in your smut and filthiness. But I am taking it back, and putting her were she belongs, on a throne of roses, under the sun, on summer day, she's a queen with no kingdom, she's a queen with no need for a king, and her name is: LOVE.