I can see right through you and I find myself oddly excited. 
You glow deep inside like a nightlight. I wish to be warmed by this light.
The colors change so rapidly I can hardly focus my eyes. I must crawl inside you at once.
And your ass is like a peach, like a peach ass.
Stop staring all of you. There won't be enough room for you to climb in; I am too small in the necessary spaces.
Your gaze fills me with deep shame.
Feverish sensations fill my blood from matters of a violent and unfulfilled desire. I am swollen with sickness.
You are made of beets. I think this is wonderful. You are made of beets. I think this is wonderful.
I wished for her to remove them one by one with her mouth.
It would cause a hemorrhage, of this I am certain.
When she is not around, I do not exist at all.
A pathological disorder, let's be honest.
In my dreams there is an intimacy I have never known.
These newfound discoveries are causing me to spray strange oily liquids.
When I wake up, I feel profound disappointment and humiliation.
You are too needy, dripping with need. You should probably kill yourself before someone drowns in your seepage.
You paralyze me with disgust. You are spilling open like a gelatinous urchin belly.
I am aware of this. Please tell me how I can make myself appear more desirable to others. I would like to know my surgical options.
I hate you.
I would like to end your life, but why? I know: meat. You are nothing but meat. You smell like diapers and sausage.
I disagree. Your waxy face looks ashen like a cadaverous larva, but I am enamoured with your smell, like a cranal flower with a frankincense opening, steeped in the essence of leather and mimosa.
You are a delight. If only I could remove your head altogether.
I will perform the surgery at once. I hope you are not too sensitive to pain.
I will elect to have the surgery, too. There is someone particular I have in mind whom I would like to impress. So far, nothing else is working.
What is this burning sensation? It is all encompassing. As if there are holes everywhere, all over me.
Burning sensations. Burning sensations.
I cannot make sense of all this slime. You are so slimy. Might I run my tongue along this substance?
Perhaps I will move underground like a subterranean alien.
I will visit and bring gifts to soothe your decaying limbs which will be crushed by the weight of the earth on top of your body.
I will also apply my saliva technique to your rotten spots. No problem at all.