A whore

A mirage, an illusion, the reflection of my confessed, prohibited desires.
I'm not a martyr; I prefer to be a whore. It doesn't matter what you say or do, I know you don't exist. Or am I the creation?
Dream or nightmare, it doesn't depend on us, we can only but wait. I'm afraid that there are too many dichotomies in this equation.
Whichever way I'll be standing here. I've already stood up, one can only be on her knees for so long, only enough for you to have your orgasm, liquid cream over my breasts.
Don't say it, I know you are in a hurry, don't miss the bus heading anywhere, towards a dead destination. Interesting ... for a shadow.
Maybe if you phoned again would I make an attempt at believing you. Tell, walking cadaver: would it be worth it?
Yes, I agree with you, I too did some things wrong, I already told you a prefer to be a whore.
Maybe you'll understand it someday? Maybe with somebody else?
A mirage, an illusion, the reflection of my confessed, prohibited desires, and even still you don't exist. It's nothing but my desire that gives you life, you are the smoke from the cigarette that I smoke. A chimera. I've decided I want to be an alchemist. Or even better, a magician.
No, no, no, no. In the end, I'll stick to being a whore...



Gracias a Javi Rodríguez por la traducción.