Sin-filled
From the first time I noticed you, I knew you had to be mine. Such perfect breasts. Long, trim legs. A dazzling white smile that lit up your face until the black hair framing your features shone with its brightness. You dressed modestly, knee-length skirt and a white Oxford with the top button undone - a tease for the deliciousness wrapped inside. There was nothing I wouldn't do to get you.
But what was I? Just a brown-haired, mousy-looking nobody with crooked teeth and a KMart wardrobe who worked as a typist in your law office. You wouldn't even look at me. You only had eyes for the suits with deep brown eyes and wavy hair and bodies that were ripped each morning at the gym. Look at me, dammit! Look at ME!
But you wouldn't. Even with the surruptitious packages of chocolates left on your desk, the hand-drawn flowers on the memos I sent you, the invitation to a non-existent party at my house. You just swept them into the garbage like I was so much trash.
Well, I'd show you. I went to the drug store yesterday and purchased some rat poison - just a bit. And when I put out the coffee for your morning meeting tomorrow, everyone would get a taste - everyone but you. You'd watch as they fell over, dying a horrible death right at your feet, and you'd panic. But I would be there looking all concerned and calling 911 and, when all was said and done, I would be the only shoulder you could cry on. And there I'd have you, all wrapped up like a pretty present to do with as I pleased.