Sick Dreams

I saw the flesh been too young to preserve
Now every time I look at the past there’s nothing else
Used to look at women as soul mates
Used to fake myself into a friend
Just a walking contradiction deformed by libido
An empty cocoon filled with perversions and lecherous thoughts.

I’ve told myself to keep walking and get over it
I know I’m trying to fool myself
Every time I find some appreciation for my sick been
I need to rape it to the core, to the memory, to the sickness.

Every kiss hurts deeper into the wounds
Every touch from your body against mine drying tears from memories
Every ejaculation makes me want to kill myself.
At this point I look at myself as a sick erratic piece of man
Divided between my instinct of pure hedonism
And the human propose the domination of placebos
Sometimes even the dream of not abuse another girl.