I played the part of the man and ejaculated onto the page these vein thoughts of mine, this throbbing headache of disease that permiates my existence like a festering wound of mind
I’d much rather be the woman, womb open and waiting for the semen from heaven, vestal virgin of the ΘΕΟΣ
But alas, the divine ΩΦΑΛΛΕ never came, it’s sweet ambrosia, the nectar of life itself, died in my hands
How long must I suffer this doing, before I join ΠΑΝ in the Eleusinian dance?
I fear it may never be enough.