Dear Reader

Who are you?

Silent in that dark booth,

Voyeur of my fantasies,

Aspirations, Tribulations,

What kind of statisfaction are you getting?

Clicking on my confessions,

Scrolling through my history,

Do I remind that you're beautiful?

Ugly?

Do I remind you of your former self?

Before you got old and dull?

Jaded by your own amaranthine?

Somehow my flirtations with death,

Convert you back to life,

My longing heart,

Sews a stitch in yours,

Drop another quarter in the slot,

Behind your privacy glass dear reader,

Like some dutch whore house,

2am on your exotic vacation,

You reek,

Like booze, cheap ones,

Your lips are peeling white, like icebergs slamming together,

You don't smoke but you bought a pack,

Your tie is so loose it might as well be wrapped around your forehead,

Eyes red skin green,

You barely staggered into this place,

Now you're cutting through the red lights and cigar smoke,

Trying to find that door you opened last time, aren't you?

I suppose I'll never know,

After all I'm the one on display,

And we both know why we're here,

Just sit back and relax,

Let me cut myself open,

For you,

Tell me how you like it,

When I bleed.

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