February 25, 2010


You, with your messy, blonde, layered bob. Your nauseously bright, hot pink tights. Your blue floral lampshade dress. You had seductively baby-fat round calves atop glass ankles. I loved the Crayola blue eyes lined in kohl; punk eyes peeking from a child's face. You're the kind that gets what she wants with a coquette's batted lashes. You giggled becomingly at each of his witless jokes.

What a counterfeit you are; what a dirty fake. What is it you're getting from him? Money? Sex? Is it adoration? It is, isn't it. Adoration. I bet you get it from anyone you want. You can't live without it. He's such a slouch that he doesn't see it. He thinks he's a real winner. He thinks he's catching you!

I love watching your game. What do you do, my little witch, when you are done with them?

I can see the game now. You keep him around, don't you, until his stupidity begins eating at you. You lose your patience with him. You needle him with a seductive combination of praise and insult designed to make him love you, but begin to hate himself. He feels like he is failing you, so he tries harder. Double entendre for each phrase you utter, but you reel him in with witch kisses when you're done breaking him down. I bet you make a big show when he buys flowers for you. You preen on those kissable calves, those delicate ankles. You throw those luscious arms around him on tip toe. You make him want you again.

What happens when he has been successfully dissolved? Do you suck your poison right out of him again, your poison mixed with the personality he once had? I bet his friends wonder what happened to him. He stopped hanging out with his friends right? Because every time he was out, you called. You made it impossible for him to refuse you. You'd make yourself damaged, pathetic, in need of some strength that only he could provide. He rushes to your side, knight in shining armor style. His friends grew tired of being left in the dust. Now the only person left to care for him is you. You, who just wants him destroyed.

You minx. You radiate sweetness to the tips of your pink painted toes. You look all bubblegum and light. You cloud his mind with your cloying perfume. You make him see innocent little you through loving eyes, but all you are doing is dropping crumbs for him to scramble after.

Perfect little you. He didn't even see you coming.

No comments:

Post a Comment