Fuck me until you know the place from which my voice emerges, behind the gag, behind the orgasm, behind the ears (the tears), behind the sound. Fuck me into silence, into submission. Fuck me until I am broken, because it is only then that I can rest, when I have come to the end of it, when I have realized my impotence in confrontation to finitude. I need to fall into exhaustion to go to sleep. If there is ever an ounce left in me, I squeeze it open and let it ooze out like liquid energy tearing up from my pores. Fuck me, fuck me so I can sleep, so I can dream, so I can unfracture all these segments that split apart in my head, so I can unwind the binding walls, the perception that skews, into that blankness of everything, into the reverie of the white ocean where sharks stalk like an incubus, threatening to reconstruct those definitions that I sliver through (they give me claustrophobia) and seek out absence. Fuck me back into nascence, into the origin, into that undying fetus. Fuck me until I know the way back home.