Mon traité avec le monstre que j’aime

I don’t need another proving ground I have several.
You don’t need another mistress type you have access to plenty of them, I’m sure.
You don’t really want what you are asking me for and after 4 years we both now know this.
Took me a long time to figure that out.
You’re just talking, you don’t mean it.
If I show up (which I have many times) you’ll reject me (as you always do) and because I love you, I’ll let you go because I can feel you dying right in front of me.
Nobody wants you to be happy more than I do.
If you felt anything for me, anything at all BOY, we would already be together
You’d already have bed restraints and a bedazzled inescapable cock cage, or better yet, a tuck so you couldn’t even use your dick most of the time and pretty panties and all of the things you could need to be my lover and my girlfriend and write beautiful songs and travel and gamble and do whatever I ask in peace.
But you don’t feel a single thing.
Every time you say you wish I was there is like a stab in my chest.

I’m only not there because I hate snow and I can’t be near you and not have you.
I want to get something out of this too and the way your fantasy of us works is that you get your way and the only pleasure I get is serving you humiliation and punishment on demand like that shit isn’t expensive and doesn’t take a lot of time and coordination and effort
but I can get a dude to come over here right now and be my toilet.
I can get a dude to fuck whoever I say fuck whenever I say right now.
I can get a dude to let me fuck him to sleep and then fuck his cousin right in front of him while he watches gagged and in handcuffs.
They trust me with their bodies and know my aggressive impulses are for pleasure and I don’t love them so using them doesn’t bring me any pain.
BUT YOU…OH BOY…
I want to be bored with you. I want to argue with you and watch you laugh and hear you cry and smell you when you don’t smell so good and feed you when you’re sick and buy you things and drive on long road trips with you in silence.
I want you, BOY.

But I can’t have you.

We’ll stay stuck right here in this stupid loop of you getting high and saying you want my handcuffs when sadly that’ll never be enough for me and unfortunately its all you have to give.
And don’t, just don’t tell me you’re sorry and you didn’t mean to hurt me.
I don’t care anymore.

C'est, ce que c'est, comme on dit.

I want to love someone else, I really do
and I’m trying really hard believe me, but it doesn’t work that way as I’m sure you’re aware.
And sure, I could do all the work to put you into a Stockholm syndrome kind of state but oxy is not good enough when you are addicted to heroin.
If anyone should be sorry baby BOY its me.
Fentanyl is not good enough when you want heroin.
You pretending to be in love will never be good enough and I should know better.
I’d kill you to keep you and then myself so you’re safer where you are.

Stay there, please… in case you do feel something and this one time in my life I’m completely wrong.

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