I want to become something more than I am, more than a man. Forward my stance, holding my flaws at my hands. Gold to reform the mold of character, to sharpen my lance. Mined from the depths of a fine mind, time tells me nothing. Something to live by if your life lacks that bright light. Free-form into late nights with high flying kites, and no worries in sight. Smokey gaze through my eyes to evoke and embrace intuitive cries. Investing energy for pure enjoyment, not a decoy to regain and rejoice in lies. My own choice is to do me, seclude away from groupies and group meets, Where the grown ass men do teens with herpes in a strangers bed. Instead of seeking love, they need head and nothing more, now or then. But who scorns them? They live on, controlling all those who port them. Anointing the sort of action within a dramatic ode to a whores cleanse. Is there no better way? What way to go, should I go and warn them? Is it three dicks your down? Yes, youre a whore then?
Posted on: Tue, 18 Mar 2014 18:58:56 +0000
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