You’ve spent your entire life trying to get the chance to fuck somebody who looked like me.
Trophies.
And it’s as good as you thought it would be.
Like your first Pizza Margherita in Italy.
Your first sip of Macallan.
The first time you see the Bolshoi Ballet.
Lamborghini leather.
And now that you’ve upgraded
You’ve tasted it however briefly
And suddenly you too good…

Just like a typical bitch would be.

Blinded by sugary things.
Magicians and diabetes.
Impressed by glittery and well-aged poison.
You’ve spent your entire existence believing that you deserve not only me but everything.
Exquisite.
You dead ass finally feel something.
Hooked.
But you too comfortable to learn
fucking is for victims and prey
you’ll rue the day
because I’m too complex for just one taste
and you’re Pizza Hut in the inner city-
the backdrop for a reality clip show
about a bottle of hot Jack Daniel’s by the side of the road
and how far it rolls down the 405
untouched and uncrushed
and so fucking haughty…

at the moment.