out for a night or in for a night
the result is the same:
suffocating under grotesque images of moving flesh
bombarded by perverse, psychological complications
of confusing and obsolete instincts
who are these vile creatures who prance and caress before me,
so proud of their desperation?
who am I to feel so empty,
so tied down within myself,
enduring the constant struggle
to embrace that which disgusts me?
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