Nice Guys. . .

Nice guys finish last for a reason. They are too easy to break. They are honest, caring and vulnerable, with a fragility that leaves savage hearts feeling guilty. Who wants that on their conscious? Their beauty bares a heavy burden. Risking the responsibility of turning yet another good man bad, I'm not sure they are worth the effort of learning to love someone well. Their gentle eyes make me think too much, and yet telling them goodbye makes me ache. I'm done with pedigree and culture; well spoken men with brilliant minds, who offer open hearts to their partners, are not my cup of tea. I wind up hurting them anyway so I might as well get it done immediately. I tell the best ones to go fuck themselves and if they are lucky I’ll try to use them first. I judge and weigh their substance against false systems, to try and cheat them of what they’re worth; and what’s funny is that they never question it, because they think we are as pure as they. Sex is a different matter, for that is where they hold the cards. They are always better than the last; offering things he could not see; tapping into your innate urges, nice guys were designed to fulfill your needs. But wicked whiles can trick their raw intimacy; for where for them sex is both flesh and spirit, for you sex can still be just sex. So just moan and say you like it at the time, then play on their gentle jealousies: Criticize and emasculate; convolute, and dramatize (keeping emotional distance is a necessity or eventually YOU WILL FALL). What you never want is to find that you love them . . . the way that lyrics love a song; for then you are trapped, locked, and stolen from the person you want to be, for together you are made better than who you are separately. True love is made of equals; nice guys deserve nice girls, and I'm not sure that’s something I am able to be. Nice guys finish last for a reason . . . and I think it’s because there is something broken inside of me.