amy, sweet lewd amy... the way she moans, it's so obscene. whether she's crying or complaining, and the way she's getting beaten, it's almost

arousing. I cannot differ the sounds anymore, they all seem like a relentless buzzing discomfort. fuck this treacherous imagination of mine, if

you'd only knew the complexity of the scenarios emerging from there. it feels like a bad soap-opera, yet you cannot help yourself from watching the next

episode. she must be so beautiful, I guess that is why I hate her and her voice that much. the mystery in itself, of her real self, is far more interesting

than knowing. introspection, yes I do fear the return of the ever-questioning process. it has forced me to review most of the basics concerning females.

I hear them, over and over again, throughout the night. I don't remember the last time I slept, and... and I'm not feeling well, here, alone

with my thoughts... staring at a blank wall. battered and bruised, bleeding on the floor. worthless piece of meat. I know she's crushed. but I am useless,

unable to save her, and maybe I don't want to. oh how I beg for complete silence...