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There's an ugly hole between my legs, like a woman's hole. My hole is diseased. My disease feeds on itself and keeps me alive. The symptom of my disease is that I keep living. My physical presence in the world is the key to my stupidity. I avoid awareness of my body.
My skin's crawling. My body's a rotting shell, containing only the awareness of itself. If I had a cock, I could suck it, committing suicide by poisoning myself on my own sperm.