"Despite the many faces who passed through,
It was always You, I always do.."

Was inches away from scribing my thoughts to just realize that am pointless. The sharp tip that's always been a loyal companion when I am better off left alone. Indescribably melancholic. I drift the night away backing and forth, realizing the need to press on, but somehow felt short of having any idea on what to be pressed upon.

Why this ? And why now ?

The omnipresent urge to feel the gaping void. Not your everyday 'gaping void' for it is a humongous black hole that practically absorbs mental masturbations but with little to no indication of spluttering a belch. It is never satisfied. For I have no idea what I want nor how to want it so bad that it'd transcend to its physical counterpart. Everything have I ever dared dreamt about come and make their exits as fast they surface. I haven't grasped nor have I ever known the concept of getting what I want, and really want it that I'd push my limit to get it. Everything's been scripted and you're the hideous Phantom expected to swallow the roles assigned to you by the society.

Thus you're not expected to resist - blindfold your judgment and poke your intellect in the eye then embrace the VerDicks the society has been kind enough to mete you out.

And by the way don't bother trying to decipher any hidden propaganda or propagandist behind the eclipsed words for it takes no genius to figure out that when a man's crapping his pants the way that I'm treating you guys to now - a girl's hand's gotta be involved somewhere somehow something threesome and awesome. There, that, hopefully shall some up the whole piss.