Happy Thanksgiving, Trent.

Don't Get Comfortable

♫ I'm not saying this to shake you up. I'm just saying this to wake you up. It's all good when we're making love - all I ask is don't take our love for granted. My love for you is real, and baby, if you don't love me, somebody else will. So don't you ever get too comfortable. ♫

Wolf Snarl

And I will jab this knife into your back for every time that you placed warmth into my face, and you will receive no comfort but the delicacy of blood embracing your sweet little face.

Will the frost of winter be enough to thaw these vicious flames of passion? For your sake, you better hope so, because my heart is a ticking bullet ready to penetrate and fuck sweet, betraying, and disloyal skin.

Tragically Infernal

Constantly consuming is your warmth, and you have conquered and divided my defenses. Now as you move in for the kill, you bring down the fire and throw down my dominos of indiscretion leading to the vulnerable child crying at the end of the hallway.

Inescapable, molded solid, and biological imprisonment. "A permanent solution to a temporary problem" the warning sign says, but the thought of you out of my sight reeks of screaming infidelity. This will end in bloodshed, and that won't be lipstick on your fucking lips.

In Memoriam

I grabbed your hair roughly and thrust myself into you violently. There was no denying your lust and immediate orgasm as your cheeks blushed the most vibrant red. "You're my bitch, and I'm your man. Tell me how much you love my cock." You tried to mumble a word but only a moan was able to escape the mouth that was covered by my aggressive hand. A bite into your neck and I couldn't tell whether it was one of pain, pleasure, or a combination of both.

"You wanted PERFEKT. You got your PERFEKT. But now I'm too perfekt for someone like you."

My misogyny stems from the fact that they never love you, they love the way you make them feel. These vampires thirst after certain emotions that some people can provide them, and if you are able to learn their patterns and figure out how to release those chemicals in their head, like carnal beginnings intended, reservation has no extent. You are an object, a phallus toy, to be used to fulfill their desires, their needs, and their expectations.

That's why I'm aggressive when I fuck you -- and the more you beg for it, the angrier it makes me.

Muse

Static fills my lungs in your presence. The most pleasurable asphyxiation. Like a cancer, my glowing affection for you spreads throughout my bruised body, and each embrace with you cuts those wounds a bit deeper.

The scent of your hair makes me high. I'm an addict for your aurora, your childlike innocence, the mismatched clothes, wonder in your eyes. In my dreams we wake up together in a heaven vanilla morning.

In my dreams we wake up together in a heaven vanilla morning.

"The village churchyard is filled with bones weeping in the grave. A silver lining of clouds shines on people Jesus couldn't save. You want to know how deeply my soul goes.... deeper than bones."

That is what I hear when I look into your eyes, like synesthesia from your black eyeliner to the soft bass in the song.

And I can't get enough. No, I can't get enough...

Vanity

Whether it's leaving a fat bothersome obligation for a divine seductress who has stolen my attention, looking at past enemies and seeing them in jail or dead, looking into my future and seeing limitless potential, the satisfaction of receiving an intense stare from a gorgeous girl, and of course, in the purest Nietzschean fashion, looking at my past self with loathe as I drive further to perfecting skills of mine, I breathe in these fumes of everlasting war and rejoice in the fleshy life.

I know there will be even more obstacles in my path, but because of my progress I am confident that nothing worse than what has already occurred will pass my way. And my performance in this past year proves that I am able to handle things accordingly and spend my time well. I will still be ready for troubles, and my experience will be my compass in this jungle of bullets, knives, and fire. In a world ruled by biological determination it isn't difficult to understand how the cards will fall, who will be blind, who will be dead, and who will be fucked in both the pleasurable and/or destructive sense.

Lust, my indulgent companion, the areas in which you have carried me have brought experiences which can only be brought justice with a sexual moan, but at the end of the night vanity is the true superior for it is what has put everything together.

Confusion

We exchange glances towards one another, and I never hesitate to say what a beautiful girl you are. Yeah, sure, my remarks have been said to other girls, if not simultaneously behind your back, but it's not like we're together. Apparently I'm the most handsome thing in the room from your perspective, and you can't wait to pull me by the hair and ride me. As you press your hand against my lips, I make effort to look into your eyes and transmit the message that "I want you."

Why is it that every time I give you an extra long hug I feel the sentiment of sin all over my body? Why do I get the feeling that you're forbidden fruit that shouldn't be picked? You send me a mix message and express disappointment when I see you in a platonic level. What else am I supposed to do, be a mindreader? Don't be upset when I treat you as just a friend if you aren't able to make things clear of what your intentions are.

And as for the self-loathing, Favenris, why do you allow complications like this infiltrate your life? You're in love, that's well established, so why are you messing with these other girls?

What is the bane of your existence...