Beautiful Peccadilloes

I lose all my inspiration

and all my creativity

whenever I let all the steam off

Bliss, Bliss, Bliss

Why must I be so compulsive,

So primitive.

My words are illegitimate

whenever I'm not in my natural state.

Relief is all I seek,

but it comes with a price.

I loose my essence, 

all my memories,

all my dreams.

A self-destructive vice

Blue thighs make my life complete

My inherited curse

I need it to make me feel like a man

I loose track of time

I loose track of space

The universe is one, 

At least for two seconds.

Help my sin

Help my helpless peccadilloes

Help the sore thumb

That sticks out from within me

Would you still love me 

If you knew how I was?

Would you love me then?

How obscene.