Your desire is my fodder, I harvest by satisfying them. I patiently nurture the seed, by having faith that your ignorance will be subsided. …
FUCk!
My imagination, stupid imagination keeps working to try and get rid of this feeling; my mind does not like to feel the cycles of my living body, so it attempts to escape the sensation, unwilling to put up with things that it is not used to feeling, “pain”, by running around inside itself, constantly looking for a better world to dwell in. But what if, I am willing? What if I savor it instead? Will not my mind stop running?
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