Whore

Tell me, what is it like to be such a whore? How does it feel? Are you proud of yourself? Are you pleased with what you have become? Are your parents proud of what their son or daughter has done with their life, to become this thing that prostitutes itself so regularly and with no sense of shame? If only they knew eh? If only they knew the lengths, you go to in order to get what you want. It must be a shallow existence don’t you think? Knowing that nobody truly likes you, that all of the love, affection, friendship, kindness and gratitude has to be bought and paid for. What an empty life that must be? I know you are very good at it. I will give you that. You are a professional when it comes to performing this role. I must admit that I sometimes watch with a strange kind of, well, I suppose it is respect isn’t it? Yes, respect for the way that you work your role. You know what to say don’t you? Those words come easy to you but they should because you have used them often enough on other people. You are a serial offender if the truth be told and that is why the epitaph of whore is so fitting. You know just what to say to get what you want. You know when to say it, what to say and how to say it, just like a hooker parading her wares in a window in Amsterdam. You have worked out your best side, your most beguiling stance and you have them come flocking, every time. I am impressed by it; I have to say. You make it seem so real. You fooled me, there was no doubt about it. You have used your experience and you are experienced, to heighten the sensation so it is better than anything else. It is probably better than the real thing. I know you are just going through the motions but I am wise to you, I would be a fool if I was not, but there are countless of them out there who will fall for it time and time again. You won’t be going out of business, not at all. You will have a steady stream of those willing to have sugar poured in their ear, hear those honey-coated words tumble from those oh so inviting lips. And the promises, oh the promises. So difficult to resist, so inviting, so exciting. They clamour for your attention in the end. I find it odd in a way because you are selling yourself but you don’t actually have to sell yourself do you? They come to you. They flock in their droves, lured by your siren call and you always deliver. You always give them exactly what they want. You did that with me. You knew what I wanted and you provided it for me, in spades. It was sensational and you got me hooked so I didn’t want it from anyone else. That is pretty powerful.

I wish I knew how it felt though. How does it feel to live like this? How does it feel knowing that everything is a show, a performance and it isn’t real? What is it like being so shallow? Do you even care? Perhaps you don’t, after all you are getting what you want aren’t you? Well we both are actually so we should both be delighted with it, but why is it that I am not? Why is it that I feel used? I thought I was the one who was in control, I thought I was the one who was calling the shots and yet I always seem to surrender that control to you. I thought I was the one who got to play the tune and you danced to it but then it doesn’t always work that way does it? I wish I could work out why that was. You make me feel like you at times, or at least you make me feel how I imagine you feel, cheap, used, dirty, a whore.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. This is all you know isn’t it? This is how you have had to adapt, how you have to ensure you survive by getting people to do what you want, to make them like you, to make them adore you and love you. I wonder how long you will carry on like this? Is this the way it is always going to be? Is this you are consigned to do for the rest of your life, seeking a way through the vagaries of your existence by always doing what the other person wants. You need to please don’t you? That’s how you survive. You exist only through the permission and desires of the others. You may think you wield the power, you may think that pleasure, absolute please, joy, ecstasy and delight are within your gift but you are beholden to provide those things because if you do not then you are nothing. You are nothing. Nothing without me. Nothing at all. I made you who you are, you need me although you will tell me that I need you. Perhaps we need one another? I don’t like to think that is the case because I have to be the one that makes the decisions, pulls the strings and gets what I want. I dictate and you react. That’s the way it is isn’t it?

So, you carry on doing what you do best. Carry on imagining that people really do love you, that people really do like you and that they want to be with you because you are so wonderful and delightful. It is your performance that they want and you had better not forget that. You had better remember that you are beholden to their desires. You dance to the tune and he who pays the piper plays the tune. Everybody pays though don’t they? The payment is what it is all about and you always make sure you get paid. You are never short-changed, ripped off or discounted. You won’t do anything without extracting your payment and you make sure you get full value for your endeavours don’t’ you? Nothing for free. Everybody pays. Nothing because you want to do it or feel you should. It is all about the payment. That is all you want, the payment for yourself.

Whore.

I hate you.