where the writers are
parts

The anguish of the membrane and sack,

Oh boy, it’s been day’s now, of just a little tease here, a little tease there,

Not even foreplay, and he hurts,

but this time, the pain is good, the pain is lust,

but shit, she a dying dead end,

like the rest of them,

liars, 

and so to the death of dating,

and a new sadness to never fuck again.

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