The only satisfaction you know is the lust that you hold within your massive corrupted mind.
It punctures your wound of non-loving, so you describe it as you not reiceiving.
Well, have you ever thought its not prescribed initially for something so effortlessly pounding, beating, breathing, missing?
Kay, let's decorate time with sound. We'll flourish it with embellishments of
loud music and things that we could inhale and let things rush with just one puff,
have our fun and have our last laughs
then pull the trigger to a semi-automatic chamber that releases a fuel engine the size of your palm tainted brain
it will fill the void and release all of this nonsense idiotic pain.
Its like you're always running, and running in circles again
you could never break the pattern, the endless ridiculing chain.
So you long and wish for something to break through your narcotic mind.
Release is a form of freedom but where this is heading is nowhere but a simple crime.