It sounds ridiculous but only I feel productive when I'm doing nothing.
Sitting back, just relaxing.
Popping blue beans, burning bowls of green.
And just thinking.
Daydreaming about how things could have been.
How things could still be.
But how things will probably be.
Just close your eyes and let music be your guide.

Entire lives constructed and played out
in grand fashion. A world so detailed
I would rather get lost,
And never come back to this travesty of a society,
so raw and primal.
so human.
My world is so beautiful and yet so depressing
because it's what ours could be, but never will become.
Anything to distract me from this.
The 24 year old burnout grinding through school because there aren't many options left.
So where will I'll be in 5 years?
I wont.

I could write poems
on your neck
and along your chest
with my lips

I could scratch poems
into your back,

I want to breathe
my poems into you.

Let me feel your heartbeat in time with your hips.

I've been aching for some action
a lot not just a fraction
my ****** desires are all pent up
I try to ignore it but they won't let up

I wanna watch you strip your clothes off
or maybe wear some lingerie
Maybe take a long silk robe off
whatever you want to wear today

I've been craving your sweet body
your curves so angelic and voluptuous
God how I want to devour your sweet sweet hole
it must taste so scrumptious

It's been driving me crazy
the thought of you beside me in bed
Me right on top of you
thrusting until I'm spent

Me pounding on your lady parts
like they're late on the tent
Bending you over and taking you from behind
your *****, so soft and wet

You laying me beside the fireplace
wearing that long silk robe again
you bouncing on me until you release
just keep going, until you can no longer stand

Oh how I've been aching
to let these desires play out
like I said it's been driving me crazy
it's like I'm living in a virginity induced drought

Sit and talk a bit then move
your hand down her thighs,
and maybe under her skirt
(and please talk a bit)
because he needs a
voice to keep reminded
that he feels your hand too.

Do I disgust you because I want ***?
The hypothetical argument already slides as
graceful as tourettes, and I can
feel imaginary bile and panic creeping up my throat
and into my
mouth as I attempt to talk 'south'
Talk '*****' to you
Talk '*****' to me, 'baby'
I'm silently wishing you'd save me from the
awkwardness of this talk, wish you'd take me by the breast
and walk me through the rest of your likes
and dislikes
Because, I want to make you feel higher than a kite
or ******, or crack, or smack,
I want to stop endlessly repeating all the things
that I might lack
Because, you don't seem to want me anymore
No matter how much you adore who I am
Can you fill me in on the gaps please, I want
to know if you feel that you can have same aching need that I do
My sexuality is like an un-erasable tattoo
I don't take strives to hide it
I don't feel that I need to
But am I deranged in thinking
that you think I should be ashamed to?

Darling, I want to *******.
I wish I didn't think that this
might be an issue.

Correct me,