"Abishola!", cries Bob.
This love we share is not for the faint of heart.
We both may be exiled.
Excommunicated.
But the taste is not worth avoiding.
Your rage matches my bitch.
My anger matches your fit.
Fuck.
My wounds match your healing.
Your rough matches my touch.
Tongues play games.
Wolves dance to leaves.
As a boy, you were my Sun.
Mere reactions verbalize my feelings.
It's always real.
I am your altarboy slut.
The magic you make.
In death, I am there.
You never die.
You just get clearer.
What I know, you can kill me with.
To be yours.
Pardon my anger and rage.
Your fear will never be at my hands.
You know this.
You can kill me.
You can kill me with it.
I want to serve you.
Guilt-free.
No other intentions.
Allow me to.
"Schoolboy Crush" and a quiet room.
My manhood is shuttering.
Go away!
And don't... ! ... ...forgive me, beloved.
...so, let me serve you.
I must be the only one.
You're here, so you.
Just you.
Punish me like I wronged you.
Before I do.
So I won't.
I love your punishment.
When it's all said and done, I want to better appreciate you.
And I want you to like me a lot, too.
Like... you loving me, or being in love with me...? ... I never thought about it.
It's always been you for me.
Yeah, I'm uhhhh... Ima go take a walk.
Stomach pain and Lolita tears.
Like...
#down
