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...