I was there. I gave everything – time, words, skin.
When they were broken, I was the glue.
Now? Silence.
No calls. No messages.
Because they don’t need me anymore. Because they already got what they wanted.
They forget the nights I didn’t sleep, the battles I fought.
I became a ghost in their story – needed once, erased now.
A weapon to reach their goals.
Whores, ready to sell even their soul for those precious 20 percent.
And when they were done with me – all that was left was me, still warm from their need.
A condom without a body. A memory without gratitude.
I was the tongue on the inside of their thigh,
the breath caught in their throat right before they came.
I was the hand that held them as they moaned from pain and sweetness.
And then?
Zippers closed.
Messages stopped. Voices erased.
But the show goes on. The stage is set.
My body may be thrown out of their bed,
but my words are still inside them.
Deep.
Deep like a hand they don’t want,
but still hits exactly where it turns them on.
And I will come…
on the pages.
On their conscience – if they have one.