It must be the heat or something, because only when it's this sticky-sweet sort of hot do you ache for me. You'll be as cold as the winter to me any other day. But there must be some kind of intrinsic intoxication to sweaty skin and exposed bodies. I'm just trying to escape the heat and your hot breath on me is only making it worse. Panting like a dog, you beg on all fours. Your pathetic tongue drooling out of your mouth, a puddle of your own disgrace gathering at my feet. Sugary-sweet words spew out of you. You are mistaken when you think telling me I'm beautiful will change anything. Yesterday I was the paper you used to wipe your ass. Today, I'm still toilet paper, but I grew some spikes.
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