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The Last Thing He Ever Said Was ‘Please’

  • Jul 27, 2025
  • 1 min read

he watched me walk away

like the world owed him

one last look

like I might turn around

and apologize

for being unforgettable.


his knees kissed concrete

while mine

were still silk-wrapped and high-heeled,

still wet from the worship

he only offered

when it was too late to matter.


he said please

like it was a spell

but I don’t answer

to men who call

only when they’re beneath me.


I gave him

everything soft

until I snapped—


and now,

I only give

lessons.


I warned him

that my silence

wasn’t mercy.

It was the edge

of a blade he couldn’t see coming.


he called it love

but only when I was

on my knees.

he never called it that

when I was calling back

the pieces of myself

he thought he’d buried.


he said please

like a boy

who finally realized

his prayers

were being answered

by the goddess

he tried to burn.


xoxo, S

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