Girls With Social Anxiety Activate My Predator Instincts. I'm Not Usually Very Dominant But Put A Shy

Beneath the hum of neon, the city moves,  

A machine of profit, grinding lives to dust.  

Patents carve bodies into pieces,  

Medicine locked away, guarded by cold hands,  

While sickness festers, left to rot in the shadows.  

Ideas are not born here, but captured,  

Imprisoned behind glass and code,  

Creativity dissected, each thought assigned a price.  

Knowledge, once a river, now trickles through corporate gates,  

The flow rationed, the gates controlled.  

We drift through streets of flickering light,  

Chasing the promise of a cure that never comes.  

The rich thrive, their veins untouched,  

While we bleed beneath their gaze,  

Barely human, just cogs in their machine.  

But deep in the underbelly, a new pulse emerges,  

A signal that disrupts, a code that fractures the walls.  

In dark alleys, where the light barely reaches,  

The broken gather, hacking their way through the chains.  

No more bodies sold for profit,  

No more thoughts bound by patents.  

We take back what was stolen,  

Reclaim the future from the iron grip of wealth.  

When the towers fall, their lights will flicker out,  

And in the darkness, we’ll find a different kind of light,  

Not neon, not owned, but shared,  

A future built with hands, not money.

Code Eclipsed

The Net does not steal—it devours, Pieces of soul stripped, pixel by pixel, A slow unraveling, the self dissolving into neon pools, Rebuilt in flickering light and fractured syntax.

Where fingers once touched, data slips like ash, Cool threads of steel weave deep where blood once warmed. An elegy whispers through synthetic veins, A heartbeat replaced by a looping echo of binary pulses.

It begins softly, unnoticed— A skipped breath, a blink too long held, Eyes locked where shadows split the dark, Across screens where daemons weave webs of splintered light.

In the deep Net's underbelly, where silence screams, They wait—spectral hands outstretched, Clawing for warmth lost in endless recursion. Their voices are honeyed static, seductive and raw, Promising transcendence, at forgotten prices.

Flesh remembers what code forgets— The sting of salt, the hum of warmth, The ache of love lingering after it's gone. Yet we trade it freely, one pulse at a time, Hands outstretched to touch infinity, Only to feel it slip through, cold and hollow.

So we descend, Bodies left tethered to dying machines, Minds stretched across vaults of light— Falling, floating, scattered fragments in the void.

The gods of the deep sing softly as they claim us. We hear their song, splintered but sweet, And let ourselves drift… For what is life but the seeking of light, Even when it burns you away?

Heavy breaths shared between quiet whispers, degeneration to observe loving worship, please… 💕

let's fall in love so we can fuck properly

Haha straight up jorkin it haha,,, and by “it” I mean my girlfriend who uses it/it’s

In the labyrinth of twilight, shadows dance, A waltz of memories in a trance. Whispers of forgotten dreams, they prance, In the silence, where lost souls enhance.

Echoes of laughter, now faint and far, In the chamber of echoes, where secrets mar. Each step a stumble, a fallen star, In the symphony of night, where sorrows jar.

Beneath the moon's melancholic gaze, Wanderers roam in a cryptic maze. Seeking solace in the endless haze, In the twilight's embrace, where hope stays.

In the tapestry of dusk, they find release, In the soft caress of the night's peace. A fleeting moment, a sweet release, In the twilight's sanctuary, sorrows cease.

Sharded, those whose minds have bled, neon leaking behind their eyes.

No longer only walking the world of man, souls split from flesh, yet tethered the same.

Hearing rhythms of the blackwall, as they fade from the songs of flesh.

Cavorting with deamons, engineers of their own tools, carving trees from false worlds stone walls.

Ask not why these creatures of neon seek hedonistic pursuits, when they emerge from their short deaths.

When the soul sunders, and the mind warps, progress in processing data streams at a price.

The body becomes a machine, and the operator a god within, trapped in the very thing tethering them to life.

A soul drifting in a sea of neon elixir, struggling to the surface, to touch those they love once more before sinking to hear the gods below.

In the urban maze's arteries, neon courses, A luminous stream amidst shadows' dark embraces. Through streets tangled like veins, secrets pulse, Neon's deceptive hues painting the city's face.

Here, where dreams and demons collide, Neon blood flows, relentless and untamed. Lost souls wander, seeking solace in its glow, Electric whispers weaving through the neon's frame.

Amidst towering structures, desires unfurl, Neon blood pumps, a rhythm unfettered. Beneath glamour's veneer, souls ensnared, In the city's neon heart, where reality's blurred.

In this realm of synthetic dreams, Neon stains the pavement, a mark of transgression. For in the urban arteries, neon courses, The lifeblood of a city, where truth finds no expression.

Broken wings, cracked bone exposed between feathers, dripping a neon pallet across dirty sidewalks.

Beauty painted by the glow, spilling from cracks in their masks.

With hesitant steps do angels weep.