The pain of the dick.
Its great for sodomy,
But what is inside the mind of the flesh
if not empty, surely terrible in nature
for the destruction is abysmal and the pussy is wet on the blood of babies.
Where can I be I need to can but I can't need where stops the pain.
Which is it? Why murder if not eating the feces of the dark fire.
The thick vagina of darkness surrounds me because of the laughting and penetrating dick.
Out in out akin to pain of the wrong choice there is no choice in killing yourself inside the thrust.
Always and never killing and living inside the pain of existence, transcendance stinking of cheap perfume.
Needing to die is willing to be.
Orifices always yellow of vomit, mellow and forever never dictated by logic.
Nonsense, all of it. Why is it yet so real?
Gorgomotron is abysmotron in the void, but he can't can't, so he won't won't.
But if he won't, why can he won't?
The pain is a gift, the weight is the yawn, pourring the wine of transcendance.
And as he becomes she, the yellow becomes unknown and orgasmatron destroys
And as she becomes he, the impossibility becomes possibility endless and ending and finished.
Yelling is yellow in pain, pain is sober to unveal the truth.
The truth is a lie. The lie is a lie.
Is there any first degree meaning to any of the nonsense? Is there any degree of degree in the levels of pain?
Because the dark pain is existing and omnipotent in its penetrative shadow. And it won't yellow, so it can can't.
Closed inside the mind, why do you lie? You are alone there.
Out in the void, why do you lie? You are alone there. I can't rape you. Even if I use all my dicks on all your bodies.
Because destructive powers of the void are suceptible to illusions.
Why is it nonsense while full of senses? Uncertainty should be killed for what of its purposes?
I don't want to die. I want to penetrate. Hard. And receive the fluids.
For death is the road to awe, and the fountain is a tree.