Something tossed in to a forum like a globule of semen

I wondered when they'd turn on the waterworks.
It was momentary, but only to its extreme;
the concept lingers on as I sit here bashing away.
Those desires of a specific pair of soft lips
or the tight grasp of someone who refuses to let you leave
are more than evident now,
but there is something else
as Mozart's 5th knocks my skull about a little.

What is this desire?
That is if I have your curiosity.

Stable, it tastes so bland.
The simple task of walking
is as if it is being carried out
by a maimed victim of some horrific battle.
The conversations flow over the skull
now no one needs your help.

So, this desire...
Well imagine this,
Imagine sat like a mopey teen.
That exact position.

The brain works away
like an existential weighing scale,
and it tips against your favour.
So there you have it:
You're unaware of who you are
dancing without movement
with a stainless steel...
Yes one of those.
It's going so fucking well,
until you remember you're
one of those fucking poets:
A goddamn romanticist,
and you have to say 'goodbye.'

Well, that screws it all up.
Next thing you know
you've got the police
and the paramedics
in the kitchen
staring at you
like you're a terrified kitten
and you're staring back
as if someone sucked your brain out of your ear.

Well, I suppose this just about
takes us there,
to the desire.
To not be one of those fucking poets.
To be stoic to the ultimate degree.
To have sat and waited
whilst Mahler played me out.

Anyhow, one doth speak too much.
It's not all that bad,
after all it's just another reality
that must continue.