Pain... aaaaaaaaaaagh! You hit me at conscience speed, my knees drop in half and the mass of flesh they carry surrenders to objects more grounded to the surface. You make my breath sound furious than a thousand mountain winds, dancing together on the first night of winter. Although I wait for you with a convincing amount of certainty every time I feel your preceeding smell of decay, you still haven't lost your freshness, you attack with the same persuasion each time some ungodly female gives you a call with my name on it. Female, for only from its own kind can one reap such a stupendous malice.
No matter how many "last woman standing" types of inspiration versess I sing to myself, or how pure I remain to hatred thought, you still stay faifull to your coital desire: you are here to f*ck me, torpedo my intestines to the point of labor pain, quenching at the shrilling of my liver. Manifestly endulging on my crippling womb you are oblivious to any cry for coherence. Astonished to the powers of one single f*ck, I can't but make this long anticipated shattering of my assembly scatter all over your venomous purpose (which you so creepingly justify as the most altruistic instict a woman can endure). Piecing my spleen together, I see you pack your satisfaction and part from me with an after-rape kiss. It has to be parfumed, or else how would you be able to win one last desire of my stomach for vomiting all over my scattered fetus.
I detest your appetite for monocious power. I abhorre the human face whose disassembled menopausal desires you come to uleash upon me. And yet, indiference is one act i don't need too much effort to perform. Knowing that I will soon smell your rotten (sublime to your own mind) breath, I willingly surrender to your smile. It is the most heartbreaking one I have ever seen, geniuine in its childish struggle for territory.
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