Last night I heard you cry out his name.
Who is he? Why do I care?
I don't love you, I just love your sex.
Every time I speak your name I feel nauseated. When was the last time I stared into your eyes? At least without crossing mine to blur that face that I despise.
You make me sick.
There's no redeeming qualities hiding under the shell of a whore that you are.
A whore, that's right. Are you surprised?
No, I don't think that you are. It's not the first time someone you loved called you that is it? Truthfully, you probably love it. Makes you wet when you hear it come from someones mouth doesn't it? I bet you lie awake at night fingering yourself and imagining someone whispering it in your ear.
Sex is really all you know, and all you've ever been good at isn't it?
Fucking and sucking to pass away your lonely and pathetic existence. You have no desire to break free from it either do you?
Why would you?
There's probably some sort of powertrip that you get bringing someone to cum. Building them up, keeping them there, making them want that crashing release.
How does it make you feel? Like God? A god of fuck? Is that your aspiration?
Tell me. Tell me what a whore you are. Look me in the god damn eyes. Slap my dick across your face and tell me. Spit on it. Make it messy. Beg me for my cock, you know you want to. I can see it in your eyes.
This is what you want isn't it?
Make me cum. Do it you bitch. I know you want it. Let me see it on your face. Jerk it. Come on, that's it. That's it you filthy fucking whore. Lick your lips, tell me how bad you want it. How good it tastes.
You did it again didn't you?
This is your mind fuck. God I hate you.
Why are you always there when I stare into this mirror?