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what the fuck is this
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what the fuck is this i am a writer at heart and suffer from a lack of a muse, I need her, my mind and body she says you can use, lying beside in a paralyzed still, I drink her in, do possibility get my empty fill, lying naked in a field, uninhibited, daisy's in the recess of my nostril, the taste of her lips, i surrender control and will, drive many ways mad, and developments of new and exciting crazies, i breathe out close her skin, and the goosebumps draw , and i take a deep breath draw her in, the smell of her love under my nose still, her shaking contortions, and memorizing curvature has my body as the instrument of sin and sinning thoughts, again, and silently still, racing heart, as my morals are compromising what i thought was an absolution to compromise, heart skipping beats, mentally realize my truth before her i embody the higher self and materialize. her and I manifest our own heaven and spiritual pureness, my bad boy thoughts, her seductive secrets, worthy of a chance, complete me, and my worth or worthlessness, make me priceless, more than anything money could of bought, its all mine she says no other can or has ever had this, i am happily lost and lost in the ambiance her touch is healing and so many shades of restorative, she crawls down the sheets and its like captain please aboard this, explore my truth with your shallow emptiest of thought and power to resist, i die every other moment as my heart stops again from her kiss, and i am lost in the wonder thinking what the fuck is this, Charlie Harvey |
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