Oh would that tears could quench this sorry thirst;
I would gladly fill my empty cup therewith.
Oh that blood and sweat were all that were required
to rid me of this lingering lust.
Yet so it be that all that passes these parched lips of mine
are words of weaknesses and regret from a dry, sharp tongue.
How oft I wish, with my body turgid with desire,
that pain were as intoxicating as liquor.
For then need I crave not.
But merely to lay back, and enjoy the hurt.
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