With honeyed lips and candied eyes, I **** to get my mouthful of such delicious breath so burning hot, sweet sultry and enjoyable. I sip until inside gets numb, but still can't get enough of your taste your lips your thighs your hips a decadent feast all to my touch. With candied eyes I feel the honey, coming down my throat it goes deeper deeper in climaxing eager filling me with warmth.
What if I can't kiss you anymore? What happens when I walk out? As the, times I've done before. In the months between You Refuse to call Just text me in a bathroom stall Not worth your time Are you worth mine?
I want to be happy. I say. We say. But I find myself grasping for paper. So delicate but not more then the memories that fade away. We put a price to the paper. The paper's all we want. My mind grows weak and my heart remains soft. They say that those with paper find happiness better, easier. While those without struggle and nevertheless, linger. On this unfathomable material that means nothing untouched. What matters are the souls that live. We love too little, and want too much. We take for granted, what we already have. I live in the future, thinking it's stressful and sad. I'm already grateful, of what I've been given. Happiness is not the things that I live in. Or what I've bought, what I've taken. Humans are beaten and broken. And it's funny how we turn to paper, to try to hold us up. But you are my happiness. You are more than enough.
Is it love that make me grasp the sheets? Edging, waiting, until our lips meet. **** eyes, yet poisonous tongue You leave me baren and undone. What's more these feelings, like scattered clothes. Picked and plucked, Hidden when clothed. Your touch ignites me, and lingers there Even when you're no longer here. Is it love that makes me grasp the sheets? Searching scents, When our bodies met. In fine tangem, now a whispered caress. Either I want love, or I want ***.
I think it's easier to focus on things that don't necessarily matter as of right now. Instead of being overwhelmed by the things that do. People ask me, question. Why I feel the way that I feel. Why I don't do any more then I could be doing.
Because it's so much easier to kick back and relax, then open up and explore into the outside world.
It's so much easier to not care, because caring too much just hurts.
So I guess that's why we always care about the little things, it's better than focusing on the bigger things.
But then we end up getting more emotional over little things. So I always find it disappointing. The fact that, I was made to be broken over the big and I'm being ******* by the small.