I, I, I can’t seem to shake the feeling, no… the urge.
The stomach churning necessity to purge,
The climatic rise accompanied by goosebumps and hormonal spikes.
I recognize the surge of explicit pleasure when it bites my hand every time I feed it.
There’s a thing within my skin that lives to collect as much sin as it can.
Some call it demon, but I call it man.
It’s purpose is destruction and it’s plan is insatiable; it’s contribution is nothing but contraband as is bland.
It craves lust, desires gluttony. It is a sex addict, a thief, a murderer yet looks so human. Too human to be so monstrous.
It’s obsessed with pain and grief. It yearns for attention and when I cannot supply…
It demands MORE. Every strand of resistance takes fatal blows. Bad ideas become good and I do as always after the 12th hour; I give in.
*** Photo credits go to: http://www.faisalalmutar.com/2014/05/11/relationships/