SLAY QUEEN

Slay queen. Beautiful something. Your body is like a dough of plain flour, kneaded into perfection. You’re a snack that every man would love to eat. Alas, your body that is supposed to be priceless, you put a price tag on it. Now, the sand in your hourglass body is hastily running downwards.

Slay queen. Samurai sword in hand; your weapon is sophisticated. You slay, I concur, but you’re slaying the wrong men. Alas, your arsenal is running out of new supplies, and your current armament is superannuated. In a world of only queens, will you still be a queen?

Slay queen. Give that boy a chance. You only appreciate what you see, but you only have eyes for luxury. Alas, you cannot see that he has potentials, and his future looks bright. You cannot see that he’s trying to mold the wings with which to fly. You cannot see that unlike your many lovers, he wants a future with you.