I’ve never even stopped to consider whether or not I’m wrong
Maybe it’s not decided undeniably that you’re worth as much as I’m paying.
Maybe you ain’t shit after all.
I’m historically bad at knowing for sure.
You just want a master, any master, and it doesn’t have to be me.
It’s the only role you’ll let me audition for over and over again.
I always pick the prettiest person who likes me the least which is why I know you probably think I’m some weirdo dumb ass loser because this little loopty loop that I do
when it is all I know how to.
Whenever you’ve slept in my presence I’ve sniffed your skin like a hunting dog.
I like the way you smell clean and filthy at the same time.
If one day though, crazy as it is to still want it if the person that I loved
loved me
I’m confident I’d ascend into my highest form.
I’m confident that I would become my best self.
I’d give up all the evil things that I cling to if someone would stay without force.
But it’ll never happen, nobody loves me, who could and more importantly, why would they?
I set reminders on my phone to let me know that you don’t love me.
That I could die at any time and you wouldn’t care.
I remind myself to go live my life and that I am being a fool.
You want to be treated like a sex slave and not a person and I, unfortunately, want to love you.
You’re the worst of all worlds.
And I do better for a while like any other addict does and a week before I lose it I reach out to my drug of choice again hoping one more sniff, one more night, one more word
will change everything.
One more hit and I’m sure all over that I’ll recover
and I set my alarms to remind me not to drag you with me
like a lucky rabbit’s foot that I amputated myself.
I don’t want anyone else to touch you but me.
And like you wonder and like you say
maybe I’m putting more value
on you
than you
I mistakenly thought that was something that I got to decide.
I can only laugh at the hopelessness of it all.

I’ve never even stopped to consider the fact that maybe
…just maybe…

You are my hell and I deserve it.

One response to “Wrong Rates and Residuals”

  1. smitten Avatar

    I know this feeling all too well… ❤


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