You smelled me coming. That's what my cologne told me it would do. Draw you in from a distance. Your makeup afforded me the time and space to call you beautiful.
But there is no hiding your dragon. Your reptile. Whatever creature it is that you mask with cosmetics and nice clothes, it rears its ugly head.
You leave me feeling pointless. My ambition is dying. The blood is in your hands. The hands of Y'ALL, if I'm being direct.
I am losing my beauty. Beauty marks replaced by ugly blotches. I know I'm okay. And you're CLEARLY okay.
But my okay is dying out.
I always speak on you and your kind. With the kindest of notions. I exist not in your world.
Very soon, however, this will not be an issue. Not because of suicide or The Illuminati interfering in our "match". No.
Charles Hamilton will outgrow you.
How few exceptions exist...
#beseated
