yeah baby, i’ll make you famous. i’ll introduce you to everyone, get you backstage, i know all the musicians, all the artists, every local scene celebrity you’ve heard of i’ve either fucked or am close friends with. we’ll walk into a room and they’ll all stare and whisper. it’s because they’re jealous. it’s because you’re special. everyone will know about you. about my new fucktoy. they’ll laugh about it and joke but you won’t be exactly sure what they mean. they know how i like them, pretty and dumb. naive. you’re my new thing to flex and brag with. they’re used to seeing the sadness in my toys’ eyes slowly progress over time, them getting quieter and more zoned out. you love this life, you love feeling like you matter because you get to sit beside me at events and my new exhibition has your naked body in a few pieces, just enough to make you feel like a muse. all the while you’re only around because i love hot, dumb trophies. and you’d do anything for me. i can demean you and make you feel small all i like, you’d lick my boot readily any second. grope you in public, squeeze and scratch, pull your hair while you speak to watch your eyes go hazy as you fold submissively, smirk on my face. mark you. spit in your little mouth. you don’t care if they watch, if anything you want them to. you want them to know that somebody like me wants to spit in your mouth, yours, your mouth is pretty enough to be spat in by me. i walk you on leashes around parties, i post pictures of you being choked and the faces you make while i give you pain. you are famous, aren’t you? famous for being my dumb little bitch. my object to use. they do know your name, always comes after mine. oh that? her new fucktoy, she’ll be over it in a few months. you know how it is.
