The cold wind lays waste to my self-esteem, yet still I endure. I walk through the town, a shadow of God, but no demon will touch me. I beg them, please lay me to waste, but my pleas go unanswered. I can not even count on one mortal man to fuel my destruction, though they are out there, I know, most likely in the places I refuse to go. Why am I so picky? If all I want is someone bad, for what reason do I avoid the worst of them all? Am I stupid enough to believe love is still possible? No one has ever loved me before, so why would anyone love me now? When some pervert looks at my ass, does he decide that fucking me would be too much like kicking a puppy? So many questions I can't answer. Thinking of possible replies excites me as I make my way through the crowd, and I use a rolled-up newpsper to rub my crotch, unnoticed by passersby. The eyes of the crowd are fixated straight ahead as I let the newspaper drop, and my hand continues its motion over my genitals. Madness? I feel ...
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