amy, sweet lewd amy... the way she moans, it's so obscene.
whether she's crying or complaining,
and the way she's getting beaten, it's almost arousing.
I cannot differ the sounds anymore,
they all seem like a relentless buzzing discomfort.
f*ck this treacherous imagination of mine,
if you'd only knew the complexity of the scenarios emerging from there.
it feels like a bad soap-opera,
yet you cannot help yourself from watching the next episode.
she must be so beautiful,
I guess that is why I hate her and her voice that much.
the mystery in itself, of her real self, is far more interesting than knowing.
introspection, yes I do fear the return of the ever-questioning process.
it has forced me to review most of the basics concerning females.
I hear them, over and over again, throughout the night.
I don't remember the last time I slept,
and... and I'm not feeling well, here,
alone with my thoughts... staring at a blank wall.
battered and bruised, bleeding on the floor.
worthless piece of meat. I know she's crushed.
but I am useless, unable to save her, and maybe I don't want to.
oh how I beg for complete silence...