Damn You, Mon Fils! It Is Always There! An appalling sensation. A foul scent of submission - I was not born to such desires! 'Tho, It Is Always There... That accursed tugging in my groin and bowel, when I foolishly allow my guard to drop. And It Is Always There. My only hateful lust! The one I seldom permit to rear its repulsive head. Yet Hiding, It Is Always There. I close my yellowing eyes and grind back my aching teeth. Pray to ancient gods above, if any still exist, to make this wanting fade. But Beckoning, It Is Always There. Then a sight of you, a hint of your sacred bloodessence, and I am once more lost, in thoughts of you... possessing me... Yes, I, your master, your harshest sire, harbour in the darkest recess of my not so cold still heart, That I - want you, mon amant, to take ... me. It Is Always There.
July '98