You say you want access to the thoughts running through my pretty little head.
What happens when you can’t stomach them?
When they fill you with shame, hatred, lust?
Where did your faith in pretty girls go?
Peek on in, do you like what you see?
I’m a whore, a liar, a cheat
I’m a con artist, a chameleon
I am not real.
Tell me, are you still there?
Shall I continue?
How many men have I trapped, seduced, set aside?
How many nights did we sip scotch while your wife was away?
I fucked you, and I ate your soul. I am your desire.
So see? You told me you wanted access to my pretty little thoughts, in my pretty little head.
How fucking pretty am I now?