

He paid just to get close.To bury his pathetic face in my warm, sun-soaked soles.His hands tremble as he touches, desperate and utterly worthless.I let him smell. I let him feel.But he knows this:Money doesn’t make him worthy.It only makes him a paying loser—granted a fleeting illusion of closeness… before I send him back to his place.Kneel, loser. You’re nothing but a moment I own.