It’s never meant for you.

You’ll Come Back. You Always Do.

This isn’t for the curious. This is for the broken. The ones who need to be stripped down, reminded of what they are, and held there, beneath me. Over five minutes of unrelenting verbal degradation. I don’t tease. I don’t praise. I cut. I remind you of your weakness, your desperation, your complete lack of worth. You listen because it hurts. Because it feels right. Because you crave being told what you already know: You’re nothing. And I’m everything. Sit still, soak it in, and whisper your place back to me. Again. And again. And again.