"The last time i slept with you, you weren't quite satisfied... you wanted more from me.
I could not quite spill my semen in your unsatisfied vagina... i had lost it... and i killed myself then my love...
If u can remember there were instances when we were happy with each other.. u told me "oh my love my lover.. my artiste take me away.. for i am an illusion... this is not what i was asked to do... on being called art , i am supposed to stripe you of your creativity and when you have no more semen and nothing to offer me i should leave... but you my lover... you have impressed me... you masturbated on me... "
Then we left... i could never feel you physically though... i felt you when i was working... every creation of mine as you told me was our child... and some you did not want to keep so we abandoned them.... the rest i took care of very well... selling our children was the only way we could keep our relationship going... when the public started admiring our children we were happy... they loved them... they took them...
Sometime later when they wanted children very similar to one another we were intrigued... how could we do that? are they not interfering in our personal life... are we not supposed make love the way we should...when i tried making love with you the way they wanted me to... you were not satisfied.... I wore a condom which stopped me ... and of the children we produced they did not like them either.... and that was the end... i had exhausted my semen... and i killed myself them.. my love...........
