I went to the doctor.
She said my obsession with *** was killing me.

How so, I asked,
And thought about yesterday.

The drugs you take to get *****, get high and get hard,
Eventually your artifice
Will burst your boldness, she said

To die of a balloon burst heart,
In the slingshot of ******,
To exit while rocketing into Nietzsche's abyss,
My eyes clenched,
Ten billion endorphins,
An ****** inferno,
This fusion of soul and pleasure,
God's great whisper tickling my ear,
A lover's last kiss,
The tautological tango of two wet tongues,
A soft breast,
An alert ******,
The slick and slippery slide into madness,
All of this as the one memory I will reclaim for all eternity,
How could I not demand that death follow, I said.

To each his own, she said
I would rather die dancing.