I had this vivid ream last night that I was your succubus. I was a daemon you couldn't shake. I was a pounding lust, the sound of fucking behind the walls of your mind. And you couldn't shake me. And I'd come to break you.

Each and every time you find
you try to clear your mind and then
I materialize. And with a smile
begin the process again.

Of undoing your mind
through your penis.

And you can't shake me.
And I've come to break you.

So slow and so much more personal
than any wicked thing that's ever come before
upon your frustrated striving mind

That you have such lofty asparations in your soul
but now you find your pants unzipped
You could be a poet. A writer. A doctor. An artist. A peacemaker.
So much beauty and potential.

Too bad that I've short-circuited your brain to your balls.
Too bad that, right now, all of that potential in you
has just been gelled into something earthly and hot
and sticky.

Too bad the poetry of your soul
once again
is being made to squirt right out of your fucking cock

And onto your own face.