"You’re so passionate."
It’s not the first time I have heard that either.
I feel as though I’m plagued with passion.
It drains me of grasping the reality that I am alone.
No matter now many times I moan or run my fingers along your back or roll my tongue down your chest or sink my teeth into your skin or writhe with pleasure while you are inside me will you ever see me as more than just a rush of blood to your head.
You will not take me seriously.
You will not date me.
You will never love me.
Instead you will drag me along with hushed promises and heavy lies.
Telling me what I want to hear.
But really all that I am to you is a prostitute that you don’t have to pay.
Some say that pain can be pleasure, I am beginning to think that pleasure only breeds pain.