Dear Spying Soulmate,
You stuffed her, didn’t you? Sometime my night, your early morning hour; you did her, didn’t you? Then you finished yourself, stood up, and veered left away from her almost lifeless body. She lay there white-blanketed on your spotless hardwood floor, then turned her neck slowly to my right and gasped for air. I remained invisible to her, to you.
My eyes followed quickly your legs climbing up that uncomfortable metal staircase…the one that clanks like chains whenever you step. I could hear now the clanging and sharp rattle as you walked cheerfully up and made your way into your white, empty bathroom for a cold, cold shower. You sure did make that staircase sing.
Yet, you didn’t really do her. You did instead my soul, as you’ve always done. You just use any hooker’s body, don’t you? Just to get to my soul, to make you think I’m closer to you. Why do you keep doing this? Every time “Feathers” makes her visit to you, you fuel yourself up thinking about me. You then go to a night bar, pick up some low-hanging gal, drive her to your place, and then stuff her. How many more clones will you screw thinking about me?
You keep spying on me because you cannot see.
Black Cat Words 