I feel up the cold, hard breasts of circumstance.
She feels most frigid.
Melting her and heating her to the flames is akin
To finding salvation in a gun barrel.
She commands no touches.
She does not mate with my hopes.
I want her to please ME for a change!

Copulation cannot take place,
For she stands atop my hands now,
A prisoner of her she has made me.
I am now being forced.

The blood chills.
Fear ejaculates in her hands.
I walk through her bedlam.
Cold, broken and alone,
I am the bitch of circumstance.

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