She has left again - left me with a taste for her skin. Left open sores from forgotten wounds that are silently buried with in. I sit, wait, and anticipate a friendly hello or goodbye but instead I stick myself wondering why? On that note I shall reflect and envision moments of clothing lying on the floor, for my lust filled heart can do nothing more then undress you with my eyes.
"Doesn't it hurt," she did state as she scurries, distributing neglect's weight. Alone now, I agree and I dictate, "Pain is all I know how to feel and the more I get the less that it's real. This sick, twisted man I am has sold his soul, abused his health, and lost his mind. With nothing left he lives through: inebriation, desire, and empty lies."
Writted by Eric Dick June 6, 2004.
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