Porn is born. No more pounding on people’s door and asking for more. You can do it behind my closed door. Sell the lust if you must but you’ll only want more. It’s all around you and it cuts you skin deep. Asking for perfection is the question to bequeath. Can we live to love ourselves or is it too much to ask her to turn the other cheek. I’ve settled the matter. I’ve stopped the chatter. You bathe next to dust because the sands of time have become too much. You’ve locked the key. Your inspiration buried beneath six feet deep. Forever grounded by that which has made you dumbfounded. Only to tout the bout for the wish that had never come about. I know nothing greater than that that has made me better and that’s to release the fetters that you the offender can never tender. The voice is clear. I’ve made it past all confounded states. I’m beyond heavens gate. Now you’ll do only the best but perfection can only be met by perfection and the tension for anything less only behest the didactic question, can it be his fiction? Your journey has met a faithless end. Yet tonight you’ll make it right. You’ll dream of a world unknown a realm behind the unforeseen. The endless space that I’ll face, only to be risen and feel bedridden under the next morning sun. Tomorrow will be fun. Come to work only to make a dollars sum. Only to repeat the day for the next born son. All to keep everything you see from being undone. Done