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.