Sugar Daddy

There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely, and I knew the difference very well actually. A year ago, see I was alone, but not lonely. Nope, I didn’t need the constant company, and if my brother who came to see me every once and a while just fucked off to God fucking knows where, would I be the one to give two shits? Nah, not me.

A year later and I’m surrounded by people I once looked up to, movie stars, musicians, every hero under the sun. I’m not alone here, but I’m for once lonely. I’m lonely because somewhere in this mansion is the man I chose to wed, and does he give a shit where the fuck I am? As I sip from some fancy drink that cost more then my fucking first car he thinks he’s doing me good.

I set down my drink as a migraine pounds into my head, I can even feel it inside my heart and in my lungs. There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely, there’s a difference between being broke and having no money. I huff out a laugh as a man walks over to me giving me a wanting gaze, flashing his jewelry like I wore a sign on my back.

I put on my best smile and think of some item I’ve been pinning for the past week or so. And the gold is hand cuffs, the diamonds are the chains, and the clothes are prison garb. All comes down to the branding on my forehead that reads to all those around me, flashing like the neon lights.

Digger