I look into your eyes and I feel lonely. I see you seeing me, so on and so forth. I can’t escape myself.
But, regardless, you are here. Maybe a distraction, but a sexy one. In your eyes I see the methods of my pain. I feel you slicing my thighs and torso and throat and I start to get a little bit hard.
But it’s not the time for that. You asked me a question. I need to answer it.
I don’t even know what you wanted. I’m a bit drunk, a bit down. The room isn’t spinning, per se. I feel my body hard and deep.
What are you? A human mirror? I don’t fully understand the point of all this.
You’re the poison in which I soak my darts before I aim them at my dick.
Fuck. I’m not saying anything at all. Your eyes look concerned, I think, or angry. You’re acting like my mother.
You don’t like talking about how your day was anymore.
I need you to keep me in line. I need you to keep me in line. I’m a bucking, wild beast. Hold me down, tranquilize me, hunt me for sport. Brag about neutering the grand ugly mutt.
Hurt me so I can put my feet up. Hurt me so it’s no longer my job. I need to be punished, I need to be dealt with. Castrate me, keep me in a cage. Flay and bleed me. Hyperviolence, now. Scratch the itch I never could. Punish me for my failure.