Does it hurt to be replaced with a seven-inch piece of rubber?
Does it hurt to replace someone with a seven-inch piece of rubber?
The slow abstraction of the absent other into pornographic fragments
Shattered into tits and a cunt your face struck out
It’s all motor reflexes and junk information
Both coming to a point
He thinks he’s the zenith and she the nadir
Closer to death in a heavy breath laced with fear
Does it hurt to be collaged out of a magazine?
Does it hurt to be rewound on a silver screen?
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