Gutted, wasted, pampered, and self-misusing WHORE. You jaded yourself on the opiate of carnal affection. Lay your purse on the ground, your drugs on the porch, your clothes at the stairs, and your makeup in the sink, I want you without your disguise – though I know that is a vain quest. Just try. We were all born without a mask. Try to sink into the mirror and see past your image – as too much of it is adapted. Those people pleasing plastic attachments won’t save you now. I’m not going to care about that patch worked and false exterior you’ve created – I just want to rake my fingernails into your skull and see, to tell, and tell you, what’s really behind the whore. Why I call you such, because there is no other name so fitting – to one who gives what is worth nothing and harvests what they need until they are full, then the red light is out – then you leave them dead and cold – and move on – or move out from under the skin of the last victim you sucked dry [pardon the expression] and crawled into your new home – you’re all about your selfish work and nothing else – you make them believe they have some worth then with a kiss, locking lips so tight the blood surely rushes – you plunge your rotting infection into their innards, filling the throats, lungs and stomach – with hot sweet liquid for an instant, until it turns into your signature poison and the thrill dies because you’ve got all you want – the liquid carves out their heart and leaves it in the street – close to their hollowed flesh – useless and forlorn – but what do you care. Their thrill, love, excitement, trust, passion, hope….amuse you. Like a snake that’s been domesticated and plays with their shit-out-of-luck inbreed fluffy white mouse before the feast begins – but you are not a benign creature – a snake is a snake and you are a whore.