Obviously this is going nowhere on a humanistic level, so lets just be animals about it then.

Do I turn me on?
It's a signature self-loathing

and a potentially cheap excuse for pain,

but pain in thought not yet tangibly present.

Or false...

ever present and pulsing through the core of life's fruits itself.

And just like that, doors open.

And the only full explanation is ecstasy.

In. Within. And you within me. 

Make me cum.