Hyperdermic.

Sex injects like local anaesthetic.
Moans and screams become my new aesthetic.
Intimate? More mutal masturbation.
Co-operotic asphyxiation.

After every binge are the same remains:
Empty vessels, bad taste, dead cells and stains.
All thought is burnt in the flames of desire.
Indulgent guilt the ashes of the fire.

Like orgasmic organic opiates,
Addiction-cum-withdrawl post-infiltrate.
The deception was the touch of lips.
My lap weren't empty 'til filled with your hips.

The only cold turkey is probably me,
To retire restraint even just for a week.
Not hard to 'have not' what you never had.
To win to know you'll lose is fucking mad.

Now, my cravings sing for sterility.
The absence of interaction for me.
Inmate? There's a vacancy in my place.
And I prune all expression from my face.

(Now all that remains is anger and hate...)

As The Chicken To The Egg.

Self absorbed in self hate.
Vanity taught by life's little games.
Self obsessed by my flaws.
Distracting me from all of yours.
Self controlled. Self detonate.
Living a habit I wanna break.
Self destruct a third party plan.
Finishing off what they began.

No time for love.
No room for you.
I dont trust me.
So why trust you.

Self avoid, and self project.
Demonised to Deamonette.
Self deceived, too confused.
All my views belong to you.
Self realise then self restraint.
Love was just adolescent hate.
Self prescribed, standard shame.
In the end, No one won the game.