We run in circles.
All of our lives are nothing but a routine, a pattern.
Same incidents, same actions, same occurrences, only different places and different faces.
Life is one episode of a continuous series.
The emotions we feel, the ideas we have, the essence in us, is nothing but one. Always been, always will be. Nothing new.
Yet, the object changes.
Same fuck, only different persons.
Same fuck, only different rooms.
Same fuck, only disguisable loves.
Same fuck, only different perfumes.
Same fuck, only different foreplays.
The sensation is one.
The urge is one.
The pain is one.
This is the only truth.
The Licentiam - Five poems about fiancée here at The Licentiam, an awesome zine for experimental erotic work.
6 days ago