Maybe it’s a hormone storm.
How can I be having a hormone storm?
Or maybe it’s begun. Four years of fear folding up their tents and slipping away, leaving behind piles of brush and dead branches to be consumed by flames.
I’m burning.
Conflagration, sweeping up and down from my brain into my cunt and then up into the phantom womb. Desire so strong I want to scream and moan - not with pleasure but in desperation. Images that grow wilder, harder, starker, darker than I should want, darker than I could bear, but everything is burning, burning, and the only escape is obliteration.
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