Menstrual holocaust. Frozen entity. Wanting to be near me. Closed off. Shut down. Cherry picking wants and needs. Blowing me wilted kisses. Crushing the deadliest love straight through me. Squeezing the intellect out of my cock with your hugs. Dead thoughts. Without warning. Taking over the thought mechanisms. Tune down. Dropped life. Disappointment sets in. The same story repeated. A different book. Written in another language. I always read the same story for some reason. An unlearned lesson. It seems to be the only story I know how to read. The only story I know how to live. It is always the same. Contagious. Self-depreciating. Masochism at its finest. Soul bondage. A noose for good luck. It fits perfectly. Just like the rest of the nooses I have collected over the years. Masochism for sport. A daytime religious delusion spurting itself out. Lost within a nighttime stigmata of a retracted soul.
G.G. Kalfas 