Analysis of Lustmania

Love and like are hard ...
In trying to make a connection,
Decipher through the muddy shard
Of broken mirror from my Iast attempt,
At taking my heart out of its overzealous guard.
Scared of what I become
In this hazy trance,
That questions my worth and self-reliance
No, my soul cannot bear any more to do this dance.
The fucking insecurities,
Creeping in and pimping out
My fragile rationality.
The power struggle that ensues,
In which lust-mania always wins,
Makes a fool of me once again.
So I grab my heart and lock it up
behind closed doors,
Where it weeps and hardens and whispers to me,
"No one loves you, whore!"
But in that moment when lust-mania rages,
A flicker of hope ... my brain awakens!
This broken bird knows the path,
That guides me through to a friend at last,
Who warms my soul, and throws water on the flame
 That tried to char me to a pile of ash.

Tragedy averted, though the scars still bleed.
And deep, deep down inside,
The sultry libido winks.
It lights up a cigarette,
And flicks it onto the dying ash.
Now tethered to the raging storm,
Spins out wildly on a brazen flare,
 the mania seeping from pore to pore ·
a hot blooded specimen falls into my sniper's view.