THE CAKE IS A LIE

I knew I was being mean, a pure cunt, a true bitch, even before I was mean. When it happens, I can’t stop. I set out to destroy my toy, some unsuspecting boy, whoever it is that happens to be the unfortunate recipient of my snark. My bite is actually much harder than my bark. The words effortlessly drip from my two-forked tongue. My eyes narrow into tiny slits. Lids retire to hide the selfless soul that once was.

He never deserved it.  They never do. I’m clever. They’re simple. I simply sit and observe, listen to their subconscious ooze out of their brain riddled with awkward pauses as they find themselves becoming self-aware in front of my refrain and filling my ears with ammo for future battles.  Annoying psycho-babble.  I comfort, I coo, I set out to soothe. A snake in the grass hiding her rattle.  Then, I pounce on my prey, but only when provoked or confronted with my own weakness.  I fancy myself a lioness, but I am more like an indolent, house cat; only fierce when forced or I have some small reward to reap. I don’t do it to survive, I do it because sunning myself in the window has gotten boring and I need a meek mouse to fuck with. Live game to pass the time.  A poacher gone wild on human safari.

So I watch: I watch you eat, I watch you play, I watch you dance across the kitchen floor and from your pack, I watch you stray. Then I approach, Cheshire cat smile.  Fur glued to the scales of a crocodile.

 “Nice shoes.”

 “You too.”

Next move.

“Light?”

A smile. He hands me the lighter. Rodents aren’t naturally good fighters.

We go outside to shoot the shit. I sit down. I memorize your boring babble so I can later shoot that boring shit down. We talk politics. We talk religion. We talk race and gay rights and the fucked up justice system. We tango with taboo until our wants win and our tongues start to tangle. We are animals at the zoo stripped from our jungle. Kitties caged in desire and misdirected ire. If we’re not careful our misguided passion could set the whole town on fire.

But it doesn’t.

Back to your place. I live in a gutter. You live in your lust and a shared house and a life without structure. I’m here to comfort.  Just lie on the bed and let me play therapist and hooker. I can be both; I’m a woman for starters. Start with your deepest fears, your childhood dreams, and your most recent remorse.  I am your preacher. This is confession. The bed is our church, you’re dying of thirst. Have a drink of my unholy water. Come over here. I know that it hurts.

This whole thing is rehearsed. Same story, different stage. Each guy keeps getting worse.  A bloke with no name and a penchant for blubbering. I get off on their troubles; a witch brewing concoctions that will inevitably burst every bubble.  A hopeless endeavor but they keep playing lover. And, I, their hovering whore sent to uncover their truths and their lies and twist all their words in my selfless reprise.

Tell me your story.

I fucking love when they cry.

It’s power I consume.  Like a starving drug addict dead set on a fix, any prick will do if it helps bring my kicks. You bring the sickness, I’ll bring the cure.  A pretty crafty seamstress can fix any scar. A temporary solution to a permanent hurt. My love is polished and pure. I am polished and pure. I possess no flaws. I’ll hold you all night just keep calling it love.

And then.

I fumble.  The game fucking flips and I lose my shit. Some psychobabble Freudian slip slips from my lips after too much of your whining. I lose my wits after most of your weed and about all of my wine.  My stained purple mouth spouts some imperfections I have been hiding behind perfect meter and unrivaled timing. Like how I hate and use men for money and a bed, in fact, I think I’m a love addict. It’s just some fucked up game I play to feel safe. And I’m drunk all the time and I can’t remember the last time I didn’t wake up with terrible regret in my head. I’m definitely a drug addict. Some bullshit I never meant to tell anyone.  You look shocked and confused, your ego is bruised. You say, am I being used?

  A shot hits the lion, the cat has been stunned by your word tranquilizer.  You question my motives . What is this a trial? I’m here to serve you. There is no denial. You question my habits, my future, my plans. You question my lies.

And that’s when I’m mean.

Spit back what you said before you remember I’m human. Carving your words in your face with a dull razorblade.  Like how you told me you were molested by your uncle at eleven. Well, that’s why you’re a faggot and no women want you. Or the time you smoked crack just to try it. That makes you a crackhead, you’re a gay fucking crack addict who likes men to fondle your dick. God, you’re fucking sick.

Cuz that’s who I am and that’s what I do. Fuck you and love you and heal all your wounds just to bite at the cuts with my bloody, sharp tooth. I’m a monster, motherfucker, and I hate men the most. They’re my favorite to hunt, my favorite to eat, and my favorite carcass to boast. It’s you that I loathe. I possess no flaws. I only came here to serve.  How dare you rebuke me after I bore your cross?

But I’m still charming. I’m a woman remember. I’ll disarm you. I’ll cry now. How could you? After all that I’ve done? I’m sobbing into my wine glass. The game changes. Well of course that it does. I have breasts, and when I heave, my cleavage gets huge. You want to bury your face into my wet bosom. Of course you do, you’re a pathetic fucking dude.

You’re crying again. You’re sorry? Fuck you. You’re sorry alright. A sorry fucked up son of a bitch with a sorry fucked up life. I only came here to serve, I possess no flaws. How dare you accuse me of anything unclean? Yes, I can be mean. I mean it when I say you’ll never see me again. You better believe that I’m leaving. How dare you? How dare you?

My phone won’t stop ringing but I’m not going back. I have more traps to set, more rats to catch. Want to clean up the sewers like a good little cat. Lick the blood off my paws in time for my afternoon nap.  They don’t deserve it but what can I do? I’m such a good huntress and healer of wounds. I destroy and I salvage all in one swoop.

If there is a God, I think I’m his personal reaper. Raping the feelings of men that deserve to be eaten. I haven’t found a man yet cunning enough to beat me.  And all my lovers will read this will think that I don’t mean it. But you’re all being slowfucked by a monster with no feeling. I mean it, my love, it’s better to believe it.

I’m an angel, I possess no flaws, I was sent here by God.