there were no rewards.
no extrinsic violence. no objective
gratification.
my genitals are dying.
my eyes are milking the sheets.
my fetishes need fed
and my stimulations are
not nutritional enough to
exhibit a sturdy environment.
so many arousals being missed as
i sit behind these walls, among
the consorts of arranged
fetuses, holes too small for
my engorged
desire.
i need the creamed skin of innocence...
the deer eyes of children.
i need their trust and their blood.
from the highest order do these presentations come,
filtered through the weather and the food and the utilities
of the basest good.
my frequency is
a labored goat, and all i want is myself.
you frustrated liars know nothing of who you are, inside.
Birth sign: Taurus
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