maybe its time to move on?

maybe its time to move on?
of course smelling her neck puts me beyond merriment
of course while i caress every inch of her body
and her body nestles to mine
i feel more thrilling and intense passion that i could ever illustrate
a series of biochemical responses that trigger an emotional cascade, impairing normal functioning
illuminated
it is my aberrant affinity
to run when she calls
to be her slave, like she was mine
to make myself her dog, like she was mine
to make myself her vigorous sin
who would knock on every door in every slum in Brazil for the sweet taste of her nectar
i'm in her hand
a toy with an enormous dick
enormous dick, ha
one minute i fuck her like i am satan himself
tear out her flesh
rape her holes
like we are painting of bosch
the next minute everything comes back
every moment every fucking memory that is stuck forever in my astute head
this white skinny gentile
the daughter i couldn't marry off
this conceited gushy bitch
i hated for so long
and still wistfully cry for every fucking night
like she cried because of me
i fucked the world
i didn't gave a shit
she did the same
my cock remembers
he is corrupted
with all our sins
with all our insignificant fucks
he is superfluous
when i see her face
my mind starts fucking me
all that abundance
all that ego
all the fucking drugs and
all that pussy cant help me in this downcast moment
despair and regret
the loss of trust
trust, ha
what an unrealistic wish
i fucked you over and now i'm begging you not to do the same
i fucked up something that could be a future
and now i'm hoping for exactly that
two-faced lies and i desire sincerity
sophisticated ruination
shattered remains
trust, ha
how can i earn that...

flaccid

im flaccid
i try to share my emotional state
try to find the words that can describe my predicament
what i get into my .txt is redundancy not deliverance
nothing protrudes
i try to hone the gibberish i write about women, sex, myself, you and the disgusting things we did
but theses words are not mine
they are stolen, half-hearted and forlorn
should i reproach myself for all the nights filled with eclectic jazz of negroe youth
mixed with chemical imbalances and shiny crystals
i only wanted to smell the roses for a while
to coin a phrase here
all theses commodities and factotums
that heady fake affluence
left me agitated
but dumb
there will be no paramount idea or intelligence born from this

i allay myself that i can go back to my purer sublimity
tread lightly
try finely
but i see no change
have i lost my wit
to a blank page
what am i becoming
what i am
is useless