I cry after I masturbate
at the accompaniment of piano.
It's a great relief all things considered.
I don't have to think of other people.
The attractions of sex as a female:
the titts, the lips, the old cave.
It's the primal mission of survival
with the soul weeps another layer.
Why do we have to think when we don't have to?
To make art? To fill the gap? To beg for more?
Keep it simple while simple gets you dead.
I'd take that hint & cram it up my own ass.
Narci-sext
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