I sort of hate you.
I want you.
But I hate you.
Your phantom pushes me into the light like a child into saw blades. The lust rising into my chest from the very pit of my stomach. Yes. I want you.
The massacre in my head goes on and on and on like a winding music box and you..
You keep turning the damn crank!
Salvation! Salvation!
The heretic priest cries from the tops of his money driven steeple, but we know where his lust lies.
But our lust and our passion and our hate overrides even those with no standards of compassion!
We're lust driven monsters
and I fucking love it.
