January 23, 2008
Pleasure is seven beautiful colors;
It sounds like the soft snoring issuing out of my mouth when I sleep,
And it tastes like the sweet victory of watching my rival drink poisoned wine.
It smells like the fresh blood spilled all over the ground and on my hands;
It looks like the world only seen from the center.
Pleasure makes me feel enraptured.

It is the green of the pythons that slither across my tongue;
It sounds like wedding bells, ringing for a young woman and a man twice her age,
And tastes like mouth-watering food.
It smells like the make up that is used, only enhancing my perfect face;
It looks like a harlot seeking her next victim.
Pleasure makes me feel devious.

It is the color of bruises and blood scattered on a deserving body;
It sounds like the lies I speak to get what I want,
And tastes like the sweet skin of a lover.
It smells like the local drunkard;
It looks like someone who doesn't even try.
Pleasure makes me feel joyous.

How can pleasure
in these seven colors
feel so good,
but yet
be so bad?

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