We don’t have secrets, do we? As I sit before her, I wish to speak but am silenced for so many reasons. Why not her, I wonder as I think of all his pretty girls, lined up, transparent harlots waiting their turn. Which one will he choose to consume? Certainly not her, not tonight. For he will return as she slumbers, lying next to her, he searches for a reason to care.
1 comments:
Writing has always been your true calling. Even as a young child, you creatively wrote about your ballet teacher. This is your art my dear. Keep up the good work.
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