The vampire killer: she wants quick, slick, simple answers; simple solutions to complex problems.
And your black plastic, synthetic vampire queen. She won’t waste her time on you. She don’t care for you. She won’t give you the
time of day. No time to think, to wonder, to create; to make something new from
the old, worn-out things, or fashion something beautiful, wild and impractical
like poetry or art or the songs you sing with your stupid, pointless guitar. She wants quick, slick, simple answers; simple solutions to complex problems.
She wants a quick, slick, emotionless transaction; she means business; she wants speedy, efficient solutions she can use; to move forward, to get what she wants.
She measures you with a glance. She knows all she
needs in a second. She looks you up and down, scans you with her laser-eye, and
passes by. She’s a monster. She’s a machine. Unblinking, she
makes her mind up, and moves on.
You are left naked, brutalized, barely breathing; all
washed up and shivering in the shallows.
She doesn’t want you. She throws her
head back and laughs. She’s an animal. She doesn’t want you; she doesn’t want you. You’re too old and slow, too inefficient.
Too many rough edges on him, impossible to smooth him out. So don’t waste your
precious time; don’t waste your energy on repairs. Unwrap a fresh one. Fuck him
good, fuck him up; and move on.
