The path of excess leads to the tower of wisdom.

Excess.

I wonder if I'm in a path of self-destruction instead.

I'm rather introspective.
And my sexual drive is sky high.
Seems I can't have enough sex.

Delusion.

Faces and Faces and Faces
bodies and bodies and more bodies.
Kissing some stranger lips.
Telling falses "I love you"s.
Gods, I need so much to feel loved, I'm scared of such hunger.

Men.

Every men I had had in my bed this weekend.
Looking them looking me with apprension, with desire, with lust.
The head of my dick pushing against their holes.
Their hairy legs against my shoulders, I love that sensation.
Who I'm loving then?

Love.

To whom I'm making love.
To these men, don't.
I'm just fucking them, pretending I love them, pretending they love me back.

The one.

Who's the one I try to see when I close my eyes near rapture.
Who's the one whose name I don't know but I tried to cry while I fuck.
Who's the one, for whom, these men, are just meat to use as a substitute.
Who's the one I can't find in these men bodies, in these men minds.
I'm afraid, may I never know.

Hyde Effect.

Sometimes I miss being Jekyll. Sometimes I miss being Hyde.
Seem nowadays, I'm just a mix of both.