fractal

Sometimes, I think you are an infection.

A distraction.
A motive.
A virus.
An insidious crack in my core.

I don't like thinking of you.
I don't like the need, the want, the broken membrane. I don't like the compulsion, the fracture of the senses. The horrific mental imagery that generates itself, repetitive motion, the vile exchange.

I don't like the voices I hear through the walls, too loud and over excited, young boys trying to be men.