The devil came to me last night. He slank up slow behind and slipped his hand around my waist. With a serpant tounge I tasted his charisma in that moment, still, before he spun me, face-to-face. So this was my tormentor. My desire in Armani with the words and will of satan on his tongue.
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I have a headache at the end of the day. My brain is tired, body's tired. I am a creature on the rack and pulled in all directions. The lower-middle class. Good schools. Good universities. Primly pleated skirts. Of course, I'm only here because
So Satan pulled my closer. He murmered something thick and sweet like mulled wine lingering on his tongue. He wanted me, to toy with me, a plaything. He wanted me a prisoner, a slave to all the wicked ways, below.
Because my father couldn't bare the thought I hadn't had a private school. So although he'd never given us enough for food or clothes in years before, I could, in those mornings, wear my blazer and my hat like all the rest.
I loved him there, suspended, ever-more for the moment where we stood. This rugged charm and demon lights like embered coal bore down on me. But more. A lust for me, beneath it all. Desire met and raised to higher stakes.
But on the weekends and at night, we're not alike. Still dressed in all the hand-me-downs and second-hand and rags. Working now while every sinew loathes the toil. Afluence has flitted past my ear and let me say
He looked me up and down once more, and asked again and told again what he could give if I would next, when all had come to pass. He said it now quite plainly - give my soul.
Honour in independence is a lie. There is no greatness in going it alone when daddy's contacts, mummy's social set could do the job, and better, faster, well, with so much less the mess and wasted time.
I smiled a 'Yes', lay down with him and breathed his hot breath in. I laughed and smiled and toyed. And I left with his Armani on. This rampant fool who came to me had not the sense to know I burnt my soul out long ago.
So I, the fool, woke again alone today and found myself in bed. This small room I can't afford. No pictures over clean grey walls. Another tired day and sleepless night because, in hope and vanity I dared to think, that satan may have cared enough to want the likes of me.