Low is Where I Go

I'm ashamed of how i act, how i give in, how i say things i don't want to say.

Words that make me clench my thighs while i hold in my sighs, merely an exercise in the act of denies.

I deny i love it, i deny that i want it, i deny that it makes me wet and ashamed that i can't deny the reprise, reprieve, wanting to receive bit twisting so madly when i don't.

Slowly but surely as if i'm binding myself, i spin the lies, i spin the truth, i spin myself into the mental state i want.

Low is where i go, when the hand won't go, i put my neck to it, bend to it, reach at it.

No hands to reach out, it holds itself open, wanton and waiting and just out of reach, too open for hunt, too hidden to prey

Can't make me, can't force, can't mitigate what i do to destruct and destroy myself, hold myself open to retaliate none and not one.

I dont need much, i dont seek much, a psychological straight man, an emotional blank, a point where i imagine and manipulate what i need from nothing.

I extrapolate, deisgnate and terminate. No one can get too much too close too far because i detonate before i designate