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where does your soul go when you go to sleep at night?

Deflated infernal alarm clock. It is raining again . . . the clock. I wash my face with cold water . . . I and boyfriends . . . would have been weird if we had been out enjoying a night together.
Random words flash through my head:
“No wonder, not in the neon lights all around, on the ground and onto any possible laughter, then someone would run!
run,
(run!)
run,
(run!)”
Outside, car horns honk. I listen to the architecture of suburban Malaysia.

. . .

In the bathroom while nursing a semi:
“Oh, so now who had called out to thee?
I jerked off in a frenzy while gnomes came inside me.”
When the chorus hit, I didn’t really even care about the sentiment behind those lines.
Alone. Horny. Depressed. Like the song.

. . .

And these days I am Neil Morrissey. Nights like something. Moping around, listening in the middle through all the jokes (before I knew laughing your ass off is a crime anywhere) had in the city. No doubt, housemates making out (and about) with their boyfriends, indulging in the crass consumerism of Valentine’s Day.
Life’s second chorus, the annoying. I was tired of the rain, letting the Great Listener know that I had felt something for Him.
“I’m sad, for crying out loud.”

. . .

I came moments ago. I tried to think of why I tried to get a bit more sleep. An erection, and, perhaps, an odd desire upon a beggar, all pathetic-looking, were about me.
I certainly was really into her. My only hope, really, was my direction under the orange light that led onto the pavement . . . watched that heart-melting smile of hers . . . nodded at the 24-hour pub I worked at. Freshen up and take a shower. It’s the same person that she keeps bothering me about so much, and I make my way to the bathroom to let her know that I’m leaving.
She can guess what I am going to say and explains an uncomfortable erection, rising and falling like the tide, “some help with something,” and I decide to see her insides.
It is her, truly fucked.

. . .

I, not knowing what to do but notice that, even if it was only drunken people at every table (voices rising and falling), it was just my luck that they all complained about it one night . . . cigarette drunk ambling down the steps like they were going away some time soon, receding into the night.
“Go off an hour later,” he says. Knowing that, I go in for a shower.
As soon as he sees me he smiles.

. . .

The city is suddenly silenced.
Contact is made and I soon begin to settle down. I can hear her working on my cock in the background, watching like Big Brother.
She’s going down and I can feel it. Moans of pleasure escape her lips, locked on my throbbing meat.
I feel around on the table, lick my lips.
And the large smiley face watches on.
My body tenses up in anticipation for the first touch of a surge of pleasure like a lightning bolt through my entire body. My back arches and I . . . I don’t know how to describe it, I . . . I can feel her breath on my erect penis. Large smiley face just . . . instantly want to come but I resist the urge and . . .

. . .

I am suddenly awake, sheets and crotch and cock sticky with the piece of paper that I write something on . . . I grab a pen lying in a puddle of my drying spunk and write. Dazed, suddenly asleep again.
I fall.
Down.
Down.
Down.

. . .

I am a husband and wife, bound and gagged . . . in a darkened room . . . drooling over the tools on offer. I am spoilt for choice. I have him, but I don’t even know his name. “His job was to pick her,” the first one says.
It wasn’t exactly the easiest job to get some old geezer who apparently owed someone in the mob to clean up all the crap afterwards. “In other words,” the first one continues, “you’re being given a load of buckshot to the face. You won’t really know who’s going to be doing the actual killing!”
I die.

. . .

I wake up in the morning light. My mouth tastes like paper and my head throbs like an erection. I can hear birds singing.
It will be a Good Day.
I stumble out of bed and get ready for another day of work.

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