It's funny. You know you'll never be more than a walking wallet for me but you are still hopelessly addicted to my every word, every movement, every breath. I eat boys like your for breakfast and throw you away with no regrets as soon as you're empty. You must be some kind of freak to enjoy it but here you are. You're just a piece of plastic to me, a credit card which I can use however I want. I can't find a single thing on you that I care about apart from how much money you'll send me, and yet you can't get enough and will keep on giving and giving and giving until there's nothing left to give.