Tears of a Rotting Fruit
Laid on my cold bed
Teething, raw and primal
To be mindless, to focus on what's inside.
A closed door, yet God's eyes are piercing through.
Sweat and tears run down,
My thighs wet with tears, two petals spread open
The night is potruding, my eyes are tired and dry
Raw pleasure and drowning shame leaves a bittersweet aftertaste.
Raw vulnerability, slicing open
Yet to let go leaves me hollow
But if man only relies on his instinct,
What difference still lingers between him and a hungry animal?
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