Zealots will adore you
as they forgo romanticism for coercion
as they offer their insecurity
stemming from insidious roots,
a hardwired smorgasbord
of rejection, remorse and resolve-less apathy
they can barely stomach
so they get high, but never high enough
to make ecstasy drip off their sycophantic tongues.
They aim for the stars
waiting for by-proxy fantasies to be fulfilled
hoping that talent can implant by osmosis
through transposing kisses
you’ll want to scrub away
in the harsh light of day
when you want to forget the regret
but it’s sat right there
along with the denial
that it’s more than just about
holes filled and hours killed
that you were more than
just a body to strip and ****,
with only a façade left for protection.
It’s called ***-positivity, apparently
don’t say what you mean
make them feel special,
spin a tired old narrative
because you’ve got nothing else to give
then take it away in the harsh light of day
pass it onto another
and pray that they’re naïve enough to believe.
