amy, sweet lewd amy... the way she moans, it's so obscene.

whether she's crying or complaining,

and the way she's getting beaten, it's almost arousing.

I cannot differ the sounds anymore,

they all seem like a relentless buzzing discomfort.

fuck this treacherous imagination of mine,

if you'd only knew the complexity of the scenarios emerging from there.

it feels like a bad soap-opera,

yet you cannot help yourself from watching the next episode.

she must be so beautiful,

I guess that is why I hate her and her voice that much.

the mystery in itself, of her real self, is far more interesting than knowing.

introspection, yes I do fear the return of the ever-questioning process.

it has forced me to review most of the basics concerning females.

I hear them, over and over again, throughout the night.

I don't remember the last time I slept,

and... and I'm not feeling well, here,

alone with my thoughts... staring at a blank wall.

battered and bruised, bleeding on the floor.

worthless piece of meat. I know she's crushed.

but I am useless, unable to save her, and maybe I don't want to.

oh how I beg for complete silence...