I have a nice, decorative bench at the foot of my bed that is actually a cleverly disguised firearm and ammunition lock box wrapped in tasteful leather.
I lounge back on my decorative bench completely naked, bathed in natural sunlight. My leg completely relaxed, with a slight bend in the knee.
I tear open an alcohol pad slowly and gingerly lift it to my nostril. I inhale and think about 2nd century Roman Empire prostitutes in their carelessly-wrapped, loose robes with exposed breasts massaging my shoulders, back, and chest.
I draw the nectar of the gods into the vial as doves fly up from under my bed and butterflies erupt from under my dresser. If I listen closely, I can hear angels sigh knowing their Adonis is conditioning for them.
The veins in my ♥♥♥♥ pulse and twitch in anticipation...I change out needles as if I were screwing the silencer onto a .45 about to perform a beautifully tragic assassination.
No more anticipation. The time is nigh...with a final shout to the gods I unleash the dogs of war...♥♥♥♥ is rock hard, stabbing me in the stomach as I plunge the needle into my quad.
The angels...once sighing and cooing are now screaming in ecstasy...the Roman prostitutes are frantically diddling their vaginas and gushing all over my arms and chest...and the nectar of the gods enters my body.
All goes quiet. It's over now. The sun is setting. And a single tear rolls down my cheek.
And because it's a short ester, this beatifically tragic dance macabre will be repeated tomorrow. Until then, my children...until then...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xZQ0YZ7ls4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RD_44xEEDjU