You look at me.
I look at you.
The heat rises.
Arousal is overpowering.
The nausea begins.
You ask, ‘Shall we?’
And, I blush, wondering if eternity will come together at least this time;
Going against my celibacy of a year,
Bowing to the blushing nausea of the routine arousal of a forgotten yesterday,
Awkwardly I crawl on the bed, sliding closer to you.
I sit on your lap.
I feel your ******* in between my thighs.
I rhythmically move with closed eyes.
Blushing, I open my eyes to look at your long black curls.
I cup your long brown beard in my moist palms
My eyes meet yours and they stutter, scatter and flutter.
Blushing, with halp open eyes and wide open *****,
I ****** my jumpsuit harder on your hard-on.
Your hands wary over my ***** and I clench my fist slowly over your manhood.
Suddenly, I become faster than you.
I kiss you madly, rub your beard over my tender cheeks and almost bruised lips.
You pause.
I don’t see you no more.
I heat up.
I remember kissing your manhood, loving it, eating it and  nibbling it for what seemed to be forever,
Until I choked.
Paused.
The clothes are gone.
And you pulled me by my hair.
Bent my waist before I could grasp a glance  of your rugged beard,
Of your sour kiss,
And, then it was just thrusts. And thrusts. And Thrusts.
And a million more thrusts.
After an eternity of an endless void,
It pulsated inside.
I felt a mild tingle.
Nothing much.
Nothing heavy.
Nothing shivering, to me.
To you as well.
It seemed strange.
And then you were out.
And then you were gone.
I dripped.
I dried.
I spilled.
And, I oathed that I will be celibate for the rest of my life,
Again.
Because you grow upper, and upper,
You forgot to make love.
You forgot to kiss me.
You forgot to look into my eyes.
You forgot to caress my hips.
You forgot to clench your nails into my neck
Because the ground does not move anymore.
To let me see the passion in your eyes when you're inside me,
Because there is no more passion left of this copulation.
This coitus is a blank frustration and none more.
It is just a routine now.
It will just be a routine again.
I swallow the pink-butterfly pill.
And I know, that this nausea
This arousal
Will enslave me the next time as well.
And next time too,
It will never be the same as I moan in my solitary void,
Feeling the tingle in my crotch,
Awaiting a warmth,
Tingles, and all the other fantasies.
I will just stand, stare, hope and die without the holy tingle,
And you will too.
We are just jaded, and Jade till it all dims to an oblivion of a momentary jade.

I do not weep for you.
I do not weep for us.
I weep for what we could have become.
I weep because I feel myself falling apart and somehow believe you’re the tailor who can sew me back together.
I weep because I saw you, holding him, kissing him as if my role in your life was the battleground to prepare you for your saviour.
I weep because we had that.
I weep hard, ridding myself of every drop of sorrow only for it to be replenished again, feeding from the source of beautiful memories where our minds were as intertwined as our fingers and our eyes were a grey blur of my blue and your magnificent green.
I weep fearing I will never stop weeping. Until my body is dry and decrepit.
I weep until I’m raw. Leaving only my devastated soul vulnerable to the reality of living one more day without you.
I weep because I allowed your happiness to become my water. I weep because I fought for you, lied for you and ultimately was willing to forget myself for you.
I weep because I miss me.
I weep because you have stolen that piece of my soul that allows me to function.
I weep because that piece of me that you have, once held me together.

I want to write a rap, but I don't think I got it in me
Kick it with my girl and marvel at our scars symmetry
I'm bothered by the ministry
Trying to tell me these churches work in synergy
Well I don't believe it
Take a priest as a slave, lash out, and beat it
While I'm contemplatin suicide, getting more heated
Having conversation with cold eyes where his severed head is seated!
I **** with Jesus!
Frowning upon his subjects for their tattoos and their body mods
I Speak with more sin than the ancient priests of Babylon
While I babble on,
I'm purely evil,
I'm sitting with a ****** rifle, perched on the steeple
My rage burns at a higher temperature than Jet diesel
Been festering inside, nursing it like it was fetal
Now I feel it's time for societies upheaval
I'm fully loaded
A poetic god ready to separate the broken from the chosen,
You can try to warm my heart but I assure you that **** is frozen
Take the first shots, Breathe in, line em up in my focus
Not anything escapes from this area that I be scopin'
I'm homicidal,
I'm on my set quest to rid the pests of false idols
Don't you move Mr. Preacher Man, I'm aiming for ya vitals

When people talk
about you
like you're a
piece of meat,
                       I want to break
               their jaws...

Because you are
so much more
than just
another
pretty face.

There
will
be a day
where you don't
run-across
my mind
whenever
I wake up.
           But for now,
I'll let you
rest as I
enjoy my
morning
cup
of
tea.

It's hard to believe
at one point in my life
I had almost completely
given-up.

But is that not
life within itself?
Going through
peaks and valleys
while falling in-love
with those
that actually care
to help?

Yes,
It is truly
funny how things
work out.

Because all the
problems
I once had,
are now
all the things
I laugh
about.