Tough On You

I remember the first time I was put on a pedestal. It was at his house. He had created me to be an entity larger than he could ever be; he built me to destroy him. He built me to be bigger than he was; he made a goddess out of a mortal. I watched as his eyes, glazed with the film of alcohol, drifted across my body. I’m fully clothed, reveling in the inches of space between us. We sat side by side, in front of a fire in his backyard on a fading summer night. I could tell he was hard from the way his eyes searched for mine.

“Tough,” I thought as he peered into my black pupils, dilated from marijuana exhaust and the waning sliver of moonlight. His hands reached for my knee and I moved just out of his reach. He built me to be someone he’d never reach. He exhaled a breath of frustration.

“I compare everyone to her.” His lips moved slowly, letting the syllables drip. Those hazed eyes scanned my face, looking for an ounce of remorse to flutter from between my eyelashes.


I straddle you, your body between my thighs, positioned so I’m looking down at you. You’re always trying to look up to me, but then again, someone’s always trying to look up to me. Your head tilts towards mine, your lips slightly parted. I hold your face in my hands; I let you find my eyes. There’s nothing and I thought you’d see that. My eyes are inked, from iris to sclera; they’ve been dyed black. I let you see me for what I am, not a goddess but a monster. I can feel your pulse radiating between us. You see a queen where there’s a demon. Your breath shortens and my lips haven’t even touched yours yet.

I told you once that I had a sword for a tongue, that my father gave it to me. I considered it a fair warning, but in your naivety, you ignored my words. Even with my ash eyes staring you dead in the face, you couldn’t reach me. You built me upon a pedestal that you could never reach. I made love to you not because I love you and not because I will ever have love for you. I do not love you; I will never have love for you. I had sex with you and let you believe it was passion because you shouldn’t love her anymore. When someone leaves, they resign from their throne. You mentioned an empty palace to the queen – of course I was going to dive for the crown. I grew tired of worshiping a jaded man who I made into a god; I wondered how it felt to be bigger than someone.

My sharpened tongue nicked yours just for the taste of iron. Your eyes, those clouded irises, they fall on my naked body and I wonder if what’s been done can ever be reversed. My tongue splits your spine effortlessly; you’re reduced to a mess of blood and bone. You still try sometimes. You don’t try to fuck me, you try to love me. You try to hear my voice, hoping to have that worried mind soothed, to be gifted with security. Your palms stretch towards me, reaching for a purity that’s no longer there. You made me your queen, you gave me the throne, I’m not sure if I’ll ever climb down from this pedestal.


L’Agent Goodies…