i can’t seem to pick between pain or pleasure anymore. I’ll always want to feel good but pain seems to do more of that for me than any temporariness of lust. Because what lust does is it takes me to a place where my imagination is the only sense of vision that seems to be real... just so I can end up losing a sense of what actually is real. And the more vivid my imagination gets from one tiny satisfaction, like the way your aesthetics look when you dress in all black, the more agony I feel when I come back down from my high. Yes my thoughts take me to you here and you there but reality lets me know that you’re not. This is what I do In order to save myself because why let you hurt me when I can hurt myself? When I can be in control of my own suffering..... isolation is my defense, defense is my only pain.