she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.

It's amazing what
a Man can do using his
tongue and *******.

Here we go again
Another notch on my belt
For a game I can never win
For you it’s the pleasure and sensation
For me freedom is my only destination
Plagued by depression and pain
Held together by insecurities in my brain
Only the feeling of flesh eases everything
No one understands my hunger
they think it’s just my Y chromosome
But here is where I don’t feel alone
No matter the cost or who I lost
I need your body so I know I’m boss
It’s a sickens that I can’t treat
The only prescription I have
Is more of me inside of
Whoever that I seek
At least for that week

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Remember that old uphill trail
We used to meander along
With matching footsteps
Under the sunlit canopy of leaves
Carving words for each other
On the bark of aged trees
Who may have known
what would become of us
But nevertheless smiled
acted as a blank canvas instead
And watched the moments
Filled with playful laughter
Peachy smiles
Lingering gaze
Warm caress
Unfold lazily between us
The winds of time
May have blown us miles apart
Our footprints may have long eroded
That sunlit canopy may have withered
And we may walk that trail
Only in our dreams
But those words are yet to fade
they were the voice of our soul
Etched into the lap of nature
And as I run my fingers along its rugged edges
I reminisce about you
And hope that wherever you are
You are thinking about me too

You're dead now
****** overdose
But if you were alive
I wouldn't call
You were terrible
Calling me "****" all the time
Beating me up
If there's a Mother's Day
Category
For worst of all time
I'd nominate you
And you'd win

I desire to be lying with him again
Between the soft cotton sheets
On my ratty, sunken in mattress.
His tan, toned skin smothering mine
Us locked in a secure embrace
His sturdy figure protecting mine.
I can feel his hands running over me
And I remember my own fingers gathered in his hair,
Then trailing down his muscular back,
Scratching across his creamy skin.

The melancholy part of all this
Is that I know I do not love him
I am just lonely enough to use him as an alluring sin.