Ah tis a terrible fate, to be in love, love, oh that devilish state, fevered thoughts and jealous rages, blissful incantations, it is too much for a man stuck on a machine like a fly pinned to the wall, unaware that its fate has been sealed. I could even be poetic, I could if I could stomach this constant nervous wonder, when will the hammer come down, smashing my dreamy head on the anvil of gods hard truth, in this life my lad, you will suffer. Suffer I do. Why are beautiful women so hard to deal with? This one floats in the breeze as she pleases. No threat holds to eyes that melt resistance with one fiery flash. Oh the terrible irony, to know, to know with ones every fiber that if it is too good to be true, it probably is. Yet we cling to the thought that yes, yes she does love you, you decrepit mess of what once was a desirable man. I told her that and she laughed, the laugh of the nonbeliever. No, she does not worship at the temple of my ego, only at the altar of my cash machine and for access to my car, and a place to sleep and to put on her makeup and dance to herself in front of the mirror marveling at the beauty of her own self. She is a polite southern belle, narcissistic, seeing only the admiration of all at her stunning beauty and expecting me, me, the old anarchist to bow down and kiss the feet. And as I bend, with joy do I kiss. Glad to have the opportunity once again to be at Aphrodite’s table.
Such an ill-conceived fate, how did I get here again? My friend, Nick, says I am a slave to women, he is right. I kiss their asses. Yet only occasionally, for the rest of the time I am bitching about their evil ways. Female or shemale, all the same.
Tags: Love's Forlorn Slave