The walls of books around him, dense with the past, formed a kind of insulation against the present world and its disasters.

Ross MacDonald

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The Hollow
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Run desire run
Sexual being
Run him like a blade
To and through the heart
No conscience
One Motive
Cater to the hollow
 
Screaming feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacify this hungering
So grow
Libido throw
Dominoes of indiscretions down
Falling all around
In cycles
In circles
Constantly consuming
Conquer and devour
 
Cause it's time to bring the fire down
Bridle all this indiscretion
Long enough to edify
And permanently fill this hollow
 
Screaming feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacifying
 
Feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacifying