Addicted.

Red glitter shimmers across the sheets,
brilliant in their hookeresque glory. 

You are just a pliable source of your own addictions. The syringe that holds the heroin so tightly within your core you could bleed it.  What does love have to do with it?

A burning in your soul, so hot, so irresistable, it causes your body to ache with the sinful want of it. Rampant need, skin-saudering desire, is there no end? Well, we all know how it begins....

A predator scalping out her prey in a drunken, cigarette smoke filled room. So close is the proximity between each body, every accidental caress is an invitation to you.

A seductive smile plastered perfectly over your inner-child. Does she know what you are doing? Does she dare take her eyes away from her beautifully crafted fairytales to peek upon your satanic lust? Or does she just sit there, painfully humming a tune to block out the grotuesqe grunting of the man on top of you?

You will know in good time. At least that's what you keep telling yourself...One drink and your drawn, to a man you have never met before, and will most likely never see again. You flirt blatantly with your abused, over-used body.

Why should you care if your body hurts? Your mind is still revving at the speed of the shots coming your way. An almost constant torrent of disbelief. 

At the end of the day you manage to get up and slip into your skin-tight dresses, and shove your tired feet into another pair of stripper-heels.

Oh, how I envy you. Your organs are your weapons against the men that resemble your demons...The poor victims of another sexual assault. Love? No.

All of this. For what price? You ask.
To get back at Daddy of course...