I am running out of things to say.

No more kind words, my lover and friend,

my precious angel.

Only whorish carnal thoughts to occupy

my mind, and the making of plans

to cunningly ensnare myself in.

Is this psychosis or just freedom

from moral convention?

I am growing tired of doing what I ought,

of caring too much for other’s interests.

When will I be selfish?

When will I do as I please?

When will I let go of things I don’t really believe?

My reasonable, compassionate side

frets and worries and cares too much for other’s fates

and overpowers my darkness

and my desire for self-preservation.

I long, more and more, every day

to shoot out the lights

and give myself over to the dark night,

where I can quietly learn to please myself.

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