It's one of those hopelessly lonely moments.
Lost, undying.
I reach, but I don't want it.
I just want to scream in despair,
Like the pitiful creatures that rely on love in amateur romance novels.
Yet it is not for worldly things that I must cry.
It is for ungodly acts of lust,
And for despicable longing,
To tell my story and to know!
I just want to know...

WHAT IS IT THAT IS SCRAMBLING FOR PAPER IN MY HEAD?!