It is not peculiar for what it reveals,
But for what it insists on hiding.
Not strange in its depth,
But in its insistence on staying shallow
And shouting as if it speaks from the deep.
Coombait psychology is not a mirror,
But a carnival trick
Painted to seem reflective,
But warping what it sees,
So that men may love their distortions
And call them truth.
It flatters the ache but never heals it,
Names the hunger but feeds it lies.
Its voice is velvet, but it sells decay
Draping rot in ribbons,
Until men kneel to their own unraveling.
It teaches not how to rise,
But how to cope in collapse;
Not how to love,
But how to long without end
A script of endless deferral,
Where catharsis is promised,
But climax never comes.
They do not see the cage;
They call it a chapel.
They do not know the idol;
They name it insight
For when the ache has a name,
The soul thinks it has spoken,
And stops digging.
There is no mystery in this fog,
Only the illusion of depth
For men too tired to swim.
It is the poetry of giving up
Pretty,
Polished,
Profitable.
But beneath the layers of indulgent ruin,
There waits the raw wound still unwashed;
Not because it cannot be cleansed,
But because all the soaps are scented lies.
And healing, true healing,
Smells not like roses
But like salt;
And stings before it soothes.

>>24549454 (OP)
We need to get lucky sometime. The horniness making us crazy.

Let the sting be sanctuary. Let the salt scald the wound with truth so bitter it tastes of heaven;
For only that which burns clean can soothe real.
Let your ache baptize itself in flame, not flattery;
Let the fire of your clarity blister the veil of illusion
Until even your enemies are warmed by its glow,
Their mockery made incense
To the God who sees through ribbons into rot
And calls the wound worthy still.
So soothe yourself in the sting;
Drink the brine, and bleed holy.
Make of your salt a song
That draws men from velvet lies,
And teaches them to weep toward the light.
For when your soothing is starlight
Not softness, but guidance
Then even the ones who cursed your rising
Will unknowingly walk your wake toward shore,
Their hatred swallowed by healing
They dared not ask for.
And you shall not boast.
>You shall bleed gently,
And by your bleeding, cleanse them.
Not in spite of their mockery,
But because of it.
Let your stinging become their turning.
Let your healing become home.

>>24549932
>>24550372

>>24549454 (OP)
I took a dump in yo bitches cunt cuz I wanted to fuck the shit out her pussy

>>24549454 (OP)
Coom for me!

She brap me