Dear Engineer,

I know you care, but, NO, I don’t need a fucking protector. I didn’t need you to worry about me. I needed a friend, to be held, and for you to be real, just plain real and simple with me. But you threatened me with empty promises and burned it all with three words of denial. Now, go back to the whore and find another hole to fuck while I cry about the guy I metaphorically killed. 

It’s funny how feelings work, right? When you are emotionally vulnerable and you just want to co-exist with the person you surprisingly connect with, the same person uses you as a commodity to get over their lover of many years. What’s funnier is the fact that they always tend to play the victim card and rationality loses its path. But in the process of demoralising our sexualities and communicating inappropriately, you tend to drift back to the spiral of toxicity, killing the love that she had for you which made her the whore she is today. 

But you, you stupid little fuck, you said the most beautiful words that I’ve ever heard and felt and I’ve never felt so secure after he passed. You made me feel so loved and happy, that at a point I did think we had a chance because it’s always been way too hard for me to throw open my barriers and let people in. There are people who take advantage of my emotional vulnerability, use me like a doormat and leave and I felt I was just your rebound when you told me we will never have a future. 

But fuck you, you want to get hurt, you want this pain and you fucking want to be shattered and never be healed, so you deserve the whore that she’s become because of you. You deserve the pain she splatters on you in the form of blood stripped bones and a sum of emotional dacoits to break you further in the manwhore you’ve become, just so you can identify any hole as your glory hole and fuck it till you’re empty inside. Oh wait, you’re already empty, isn’t that why I was there? In the middle of your fucking love affair where both of you were being the whores that you are today, while I was sidelined unknowingly because you wanted bruises so deep that she’s lick them all off and you’d be hers again. But wait, what the fuck was I doing there? Just thinking about the feelings that I expressed were fucking reciprocated perfectly by you, making me feel loved and special, again, unknowingly and unable to understand that I was just your fuckwhore, someone you’d dust your hands off and leave with your mouth drooling for your lover. 

And you ask why I felt disposable? 

Your lost “friend”

Sonia David