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.
