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Let me tell you people who I am.

 

I am a man who constantly reminds himself

of the curvatures of a woman's hips,

that protrudes outwards from their tiny waist,

and the crevice, that opening between their legs that

is inviting of the erected phallus, that would be mine.

 

And as my shoulders push up towards their thighs,

and as my face is buried between their legs,

*my arms enwrapped around their legs to reach their bosoms,

I shall find peace.

 

And that desire shall never fade away.

It must be accomplished.

 

I am sorry to speak vulgarly, but I am expressing my IDENTITY.

This is my defense.

 

This, alongside, a woman's mannerism, in everything they do.

Their voice, their movements, their desires, it would fascinate me.

It would be like a melody in otherwise this mundane life of mine.

 

So WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKER SAYING I AM SUICIDAL?