Schuldig is (c) to Weiss Kreuz creators.
My
head
is pulsing.
It does
so
often when I
feel like this.
After he's
fucked
me.
And he's done
using
me.
I always
give in.
He can lay a
single finger
on the nape of my neck
and I will
shiver.
His touch is
irrestisable.
Reguardless,
when he's finished
I'm sore.
So, so sore.
Between the legs, and inside the head.
My long legs and crowded head.
He doesn't
remember me.
He doesn't
know me.
All he does
know
about me
is that I am
a good fuck.
His pretty, pretty
red headed,
blue-eyed
German.
A toy.
Lustful toy,
craving toy,
pretty toy.
Hurting toy?
I'm guilt,
it is my
name,
and I am
wrapped up in a package.
A pretty package.
In bows
and in ribbons.
Like a prize.
I am his prize.
But when it's over,
I'm sore.
And it's all over
for tonight
and
I am sore.
Sometimes
I can't walk
he's so good.
He isn't
distracted, though.
That's why
he
is
so
good.
He isn't distracted
by stupid things.
Like love,
trust,
and what
real beauty is.
He sounds more like
how
I
should
be.
He isn't distracted by love,
and so he can fuck me good.
I stare
into
the mirror.
I stare at my nice face.
My high cheek bones,
my flaming, fiery hair,
and into my deep, dark eyes.
I can feel a
warm, salty
tear
running down my
pale
cheek.
It tickles a bit.
What
am
I
doing?
Crying...
I'm not
allowed
to cry.
It feel it
slide
down,
down,
to my thin lips.
My lips are so thin,
perfect for my
arrogant
and silver
and mysterious
and.. masking
grin.
Now,
he is asleep.
He is satisfied
and he doesn't
care
one
bit about
me.
When he
holds
me,
it hurts.
When he
touches
me,
it hurts.
But I want more.
More of his
touch,
more of his body.
But the thing I want the most of all
is
his
love.
My
head
is pulsing.
It does
so
often when I
feel like this.
After he's
fucked
me.
And he's done
using
me.
I always
give in.
He can lay a
single finger
on the nape of my neck
and I will
shiver.
His touch is
irrestisable.
Reguardless,
when he's finished
I'm sore.
So, so sore.
Between the legs, and inside the head.
My long legs and crowded head.
He doesn't
remember me.
He doesn't
know me.
All he does
know
about me
is that I am
a good fuck.
His pretty, pretty
red headed,
blue-eyed
German.
A toy.
Lustful toy,
craving toy,
pretty toy.
Hurting toy?
I'm guilt,
it is my
name,
and I am
wrapped up in a package.
A pretty package.
In bows
and in ribbons.
Like a prize.
I am his prize.
But when it's over,
I'm sore.
And it's all over
for tonight
and
I am sore.
Sometimes
I can't walk
he's so good.
He isn't
distracted, though.
That's why
he
is
so
good.
He isn't distracted
by stupid things.
Like love,
trust,
and what
real beauty is.
He sounds more like
how
I
should
be.
He isn't distracted by love,
and so he can fuck me good.
I stare
into
the mirror.
I stare at my nice face.
My high cheek bones,
my flaming, fiery hair,
and into my deep, dark eyes.
I can feel a
warm, salty
tear
running down my
pale
cheek.
It tickles a bit.
What
am
I
doing?
Crying...
I'm not
allowed
to cry.
It feel it
slide
down,
down,
to my thin lips.
My lips are so thin,
perfect for my
arrogant
and silver
and mysterious
and.. masking
grin.
Now,
he is asleep.
He is satisfied
and he doesn't
care
one
bit about
me.
When he
holds
me,
it hurts.
When he
touches
me,
it hurts.
But I want more.
More of his
touch,
more of his body.
But the thing I want the most of all
is
his
love.