Tears of a Rotting Fruit

Laid on my cold bed Teething, raw and primal To be mindless, to focus on what's inside. A closed door, yet God's eyes are piercing through. Sweat and tears run down, My thighs wet with tears, two petals spread open The night is potruding, my eyes are tired and dry Raw pleasure and drowning shame leaves a bittersweet aftertaste. Raw vulnerability, slicing open Yet to let go leaves me hollow But if man only relies on his instinct, What difference still lingers between him and a hungry animal?