Guilty pleasures lick skin
pressing in confessing sins
that aren’t that bad.
In fact, in the past
those where the best
pleasure I ever had.

Now they lay
behind me
as I walk away,
every step
another day
to forget
the laughing corpses
that paint my path
of painful yesterdays.

The ****** bones
of this broken lunatic
howling back at
other fanatics,
as the circus of
the ****** I love
just clowns around town
for a little bit.

Memories burn before me,
dancing clouds of smoke
as ashes aspire to fly higher,
leaving behind burnt offerings
of all those silly passing things.

Pleasure is partly pursued
by all the body parts
I never used, just viewed
and stored for some
later date.

With a flick of my fast wrist
I purge myself of all of this
frustration, leaking my lust
in tiny but thick droplets
and fall asleep cont.
on my sticky sheets.