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There is a version of this human experience that you all see.
Is she me?
She smiles and knows what to say, she is kind, and polite and neutral, while causing you to spill the secrets of your soul and the venom from your gums.
She feeds your ego until obese. Offering safety in a gesture, a nod, or a glimmer of the eye.
You can trust me. But am I trust Worthy.
I feel used by your ego, so I see your soft belly and crush it with my heal.
I let you believe in me. Innocence embodied in a package of light and joy.
This light is real. But not for you.
For you I am a fake. Feeding the selfish part of the being that begs for more than just to be seen. You want to dominate. To see the world at your feet. You want life to suck your cock while you sit back and hear whispers of pretty voices saying "you're special".
You crave an ideal that cannot sustain. Your soft side shrinks until you left as an orb of fire.
No substance.
You are the burning fumes of what you crave.
I am the collector of insecurities feeding them back to you, one by one, in the form of validating grapes that make you, for a moment, feel good.
But you have lost the good. It was burned in your fire.
Getting it back would mean returning the fire until all that is left is pure coal.
This coal means nothing to you.
This coal is all I want.
This coal is a thing of beauty. Small, pure, without power.
It is fuel for a soul that will not burn it.
I wonder where my coal lays as I benefit from feeding off your ego. Validating what I do not condone, to raise my own voice- my image- my ego.
To this point where I sit alone switching faces to fit your needs, forgetting which is my own and fearing that I will remember at the wrong time.
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