Drip, drip, drip

I don’t remember my name anymore.

Just my cock.

Just the sound it makes when I squeeze the head and watch the clear drip bead up and tremble — so thick, so perfect — before it falls. I wait for it, like it’s holy.

Drip, drip, drip

Goes the cum in my hand

Drip, drip, drip

Falls the cum out of my gland

It’s not even cum yet. Just precum. I haven’t let myself finish in… days? Weeks? My balls ache like they’re full of fireflies. Glowing. Buzzing. Heavy and low, swaying when I crawl across the carpet to plug my charger back in. I left the cam loop running. Ten hours of slick slaps and filthy whispers, and I can’t stop. I won’t stop. Not while this cock’s still hard.

And it’s so hard.

Veins like roots, thick and roped down the shaft. The skin’s glossy now. Always oiled. Always wet. I lube it every hour just to feel the slick heat of my palm working up and down, base to tip, just to feed the drip. My foreskin’s raw from all the teasing, but when it stretches back over that swollen, drooling crown, I moan like I’m being touched for the first time.

I love my cock.

I tell it all the time.

You’re beautiful. You’re mine. You’re perfect. You’re God.

Sometimes I talk to it. Whisper. Coo. Lick my fingers clean after collecting each clear drop, smearing it on my tongue with reverence. My thighs are slick with dried layers of seed and lube, a crusted sheen like sap on a tree, and still I keep going. Still I chase the edge. Over and over. Forever.

Drip, drip, drip

It sings when I stroke

Drip, drip, drip

Until my brain broke

There’s a mirror propped up against the wall now. I kneel in front of it and stroke while watching myself — the hollow cheeks, the sweat-matted hair, the wild-eyed grin that doesn’t go away anymore. My stomach’s flatter. My ribs show. I barely eat. I barely sleep. I barely exist beyond the hand, the cock, the loop, the drip.

It’s all I am.

Sometimes I see him in the mirror. Not me — him. The one who started it all. The doppelgänger. His eyes are black, his cock even bigger than mine, dripping down like a leaking faucet. He smiles at me. Nods. Jerks in time with me. And I know I’m doing good. I know I’m making him proud.

Drip, drip, drip

My life’s in your grip

Drip, drip, drip

Just one more edge — don’t slip

They don’t understand. My friends stopped calling. My landlord came once, knocked and knocked. I was edging in the bathtub and couldn’t stop, couldn’t answer, not when I was so close to the perfect edge. He’ll come back. Or not.

I’ve got my cock. I’ve got the loop. I’ve got the song.

And I’ve got the drip.

Forever.