5am coffee stains, cerebral pains and a bottomless pit of doubt.
I dislike you sometimes.
You, with your sense of entitlement, your nose upturned at those less privileged, “working class” as you call them – not worth your time because they are less,
Like you were once, “less”.
And that “lessness” turned into something more but more was never enough because you still craved the love that passed you by.
You try to detach yourself from the pain in the past that still gives you nightmares and 3 o’clock tears, sobbing without a reason – attention-seeking, self deprecating, a desire for what you think would be better for you, an independence and freedom.
“If I cannot have this love, then at least I have this.”
Time and time again you waltz with strange men, seduce them with your eyes, ravage the ones that are pure and leave them struggling, embarrassed, defeated..yet they still want you, the salty vixen who gives them bad dreams and offers them a damaged soul they cannot ever heal.
Yet they try.
And you just gulp them down like vodka, salt on the shot glass until they know nothing more.