A Whore

I picture her after, drenched and naked, her tanned thigh draped over their skinny bones, her arm on their thin chest, twisting in circles. Her eyes are closed and she’s kissing the skin and sucking the sweat right from it.

And in half a year she will be with someone else and will love them. And in another decade she’ll be with the last one and if it’s me then what? I’ll have been decided by a series of failure. I’ll have been in the end the man who loves her anyways.  I’ll have let creep through my ambition a frailty and a beasthood to hunger at her flesh.

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