I seethe with loneliness--And my lovers? Sick to death of fucking nothingness; the very little i have the will to provide. Caught in the net of oblivion, there is nowhere to go but on to everything--The nothingness yet prevails!

Wringing sweet drips of euphoric understanding--How i wish i could secrete such bliss with this heavenly skin! Instead, i bask in sin, looked down upon by my peers in fear. Of what? Rejection? upheaval? Reactionary theorems? Do not glare with such stupefying grins! I can take so little no longer.

A chunk, a sum as a piece of flesh--This is all i am; a lump of memorizing memory and lush experience. This is fine by the likes of me, as a core of desolation; destitute soul by choice alone, but experience only accentuates these finer points in life.

I quite literally have no desire to be with another person as of now. The only sensations driving me revolve around lust. I am bearing an undesirable weight, and how it maddens me! in ways untold. I fear a repeat of past lover's endeavors, and i must admit i will not be ready until my life begins to rapidly cool like this premature autumn. I maintain a certain agony here, in this season, that remains unforeseen; and i lack the experience and knowledge to put it to rest.

The staleness of existance is quite disturbing now, like this paradox called my life--It is blatantly wrecking me. Life will move on and forth as an infinite river, but that makes no difference for the sake of stability and comfort.

I can absorb and digest all that comes my way, but such stale agony never seems to pass. This cruel grasp only tightens.