The devil came to me last night. He slank up slow behind me, slipped his hand around my waist. A serpent tounge tasted me. Charisma. This was my tormentor. Desire. All wrapped up in Gucci and Dior.
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I have a headache today, it will ache tomorrow. My brain is tired, my body to. A creature on the rack. And torn. The lower-middle class. I'm a nice girl. Fucking bad boys. Primly pleated skirts. Of course, I'm only nice because
Satan pulled my closer. Murmered something thick and tart. Like residue of powder off a card. He wanted me.
daddy couldn't bare the thought I hadn't had a private school. So there I was. Being taught that it is fun to be a socialist. When you have a glass of Veuve Clicquot.
I wanted him right there. High on Want. Demon eyes my mind would swear I'd seen before. I didn't care if he wanted me or not.
So I saw it all. I never danced with princes, but I got my ticket to the pre-ball.. And I think I fucked the waiter there.. but I really don't rememeber. But now it's back to Levis. And I really needed Deisel.
He looked me up and down once again, and didn't ask. He didn't have the time. 'it's a liability' I say, take it away. And I leave with all I wanted.
I see those pretty girls that look me up and down and hold on tighter to their boyfriend's arm. I've fucked royalty. He cried on me. I sold it all to Womans Day.
I wake up with a smile and I laugh every day.