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Behave like a slave, like someone who needs
to be ruined, stretched then roughly controlled.

Behave depraved. Crave that you’ll get nosebleeds
when you think of me, of how I withhold

pleasure, like a dark ant-show that infests
your dreams, like my mom’s dead sister, putting

the aunt in haunt. Cock-block. My name suggests
mild bliss, but I’m plague, scourge to your longing,

taut ghost of nights to come. They have reviled
me, called me ruffian in rhapsodies …

and yet. Deep down they want to be defiled,
shockingly used, too … made Aphrodite’s

shockwave. Princess, we both know that a slave
knows how to rant, knows where rave falls in crave.