In a bathtub, bathing like a wet puma, my servants bring lavish gifts, seltzer and sliced rose petals. An angel and devil perched on each shoulder, they whisper, and they beg, beckon and sing songs to me. The blue holy water foams and the fat flowers float, my eyes flicker - and I see the future. The white marble sink and matching eggshell floor, the elegant tile and sleek, delicious money, must be quite the whore. Words get people decapitated. This mansion is a breathing illusion. Choked with my diamond necklace, horrors hide underneath. In the dungeons I can hear the screams, it's from those who don't bend the knee. Or maybe it's for fun, maybe it's just for me, the whore, these screams of lunacy, a plaything, something to torture.