The object of desire is forever in flux.

The need to feed...to feed in

To find someone, anyone

Something, anything that can

Feed into you what you need

The need becomes

An impossible irritant.

Finding someone who

Can feed into you what you need

That most reminds you of yourself.

That most reminds you of that

Inextinquishable luminescence

That radar of a dead star whose

Ghost shall never cease to cast

Shadows

But the object of desire is forever

In flux consumed by a fevered

Gluttony that runs from sex to

Food to pot and speed and caffeine

and nicotine and begs to be feed an

Enormous amount of useless

Junk, trivial soundbites, randm

Affections and hundreds and hundreds

Of forgettable fucks.

And the more you have the more you want

Gluttony is never satisfied

Gluttony is never satisfied

Not when taunted by greedy eyes

That beg more...more...more

And the more you have....

But to fill the void within

Only the self will suffice

We reach this realization

Only after we 've stuffed every hole,

Every opening, every orifice with

An indiscriminate amount of pointless

Junk/wreckage/waste/human offal

ξανά: μία ιδέα, που εξελίχθηκε στον πιο αγαπημένο άνθρωπο που ό,τι κι αν γίνει, όσες καταπληκτικές μέρες και να μοιραστούμε, θα παραμείνει η πιο μεγαλειώδης ιδέα.