Talk Behind My Back

You talk behind my back, whisper shouts, accusing me of being one thing or another, Calling me names, Bestowing me with vices, Coronating me as the Queen of Heartbreakers. All because I have, in your opinion, No sanctity, No moral virtues, I stand not a chance, not a chance at all to pass the test. I am no Seeta, I'll burn in fire, Actually I am the fire, There's fire inside me, between my legs, And I have no shame admitting that. I play not with hearts, But I play with other stuff, more fun to do so, but it hurts not the soul or persona of another. No injuries acquired during us trying moves from Kamasutra. Us, Who are this 'us'? What is this 'us'? I know not. I have been with too many to care about anyone but myself. I don't recall their names, just the sweating in the dark. I take care of my lust, my desire, my hunger. There are no strings attached, Easy going, easy coming. Sometimes hard to come, It's always hard to make me come, But do eventually arrive, where I want to be, with or without anyone's help... No strings attached, no bonds, no calling each others' names But merely wild grunts and moans, With sweat and smell. I love that smell, I live on it, thrive upon it, and none can take that away from me as long as I have the glow. This is what I have done, This is what I do, This is what I will continue to do, While you, with your judgemental hat, and words that smell like a dead rat, will whisper behind my back, Because darlings, without bold souls, All that you can do, Is talk behind my back.