It’s getting hot
My breathing turns into panting
I want it now and it’s the only thing I am demanding

Thinking about what I want to do
It’s so right and so wrong too
His body pressing on mine, and his lips resting on mine while they do.

My blindfold on my eyes taking my visual understanding.
I look up to him while I fall onto the floor
I am hungry and more is what I am demanding.

On the floor are my knees.
The taste of his salty sweat, his beautiful heat and in my mouth his sweet cream.

So take me to the ****** mountains
Take me to the hive
Make this night never end.
Get inside of me  and follow me, just you and I, and drive.

He talks like nothing but trash
He acts like a ****
He takes my heart and uses it to mash
He does it all with no empathy
He does do it laughing about it with a beautiful smirk.
His lips bend up
Me all for you *******
His eyes on me
Oh gosh these lips were touching me
His hands over my body.
Exposed touching me before getting inside
Like I am a waiter getting his tip
My eyes blindfolded as he is on his knees behind.
While his hand clap on his hip.

You might be a ******* and that is what you are.
But at the same time you are my hearts favourite star.

I can't take this anymore
I can't take this anymore
I can't take this anymore
Gaza  is bleeding and bleeding and bleeding
Gaza is bleeding and bleeding and bleeding
Gaza is bleeding and bleeding and
bleeding
When will they end the occupation
Gaza is bleeding and bleeding and bleeding
I can't take this anymore
Gaza is bleeding and bleeding and bleeding

How to call a dog with no legs?


Irrelevant, he won't come anyways.

I look at the screen in front of me
not noticing you coming from the side
You place your hand on top of my shoulder and squeeze it, not too weak, not too tight.

It's like the warmth I haven't got in a long while,
like a hug with only you and I and nobody else nearby
But then you stop and the once warmth feeling is gone and from that daydream I rise.

My mind keeps racing, like these seconds have my mind on a leash
Hours later at home,
whatever I'd do for you to once repeat that squeeze.

Writing bad poems and songs you'll later regret
or eating filled doughnuts your tastebuds never met.

Watching another episode of my favourite show.
Making songs which in your playlist have no seat and will probably go.

Making bad things makes me happy, but later it makes me lose my cool.

And later when it feels like wasted time it makes me look like a fool.

Rocks and cakes
Hard and pleasent
Made from eggs and made from cement.

Anathist
I don't know if that is a word
but it rhymes with why am I writing this?

Poetry and politics  to My little pony
from My little pony to how the **** do you make brownies?

To me it feels right, but I guess that's what talking to me feels like.