Through computer glass

The dim blue hue of a computer screen,

Masks the oily blackness of the window it opens.

A man thrusting his hips into a woman’s most private place,

But without the tenderness of a lover.

They are merely two hollowed out forms that dance in the twilight of a red-eyed camera.

What happened to the dreams of the little girl within?

At her soccer games or dance recitals, was this always to be the same godless outcome?

A deterministic nightmare from the mind of a depraved Calvinist bastard.

Can’t she be saved?

Not by me, for I am weak.

For the love of gold she did it, and for the love of lust I watch it.

This is business… and I am a customer.