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In the midst of thirty ladies
And you Satan wish to tear my trousers like ****?
Bad
What a surprise
And from when did you survived
This sun eating my head
My shoes are boiling
The fatty legs are sweating
Who can command you?
For all I can do
To get a shed over my heating head
To set proper my behind
But still on a hot ground
Who can command you?
For my spine is wet
Drikles that make a tap
My T-shirt stink
Who can command you?
Anyway ...
You are mighty,sun
But soon,my command you shall accept.
You are my girl
Yes you can be one
The real one I mean,
But only
If my nights don't go empty
Without me dreaming
Without my dreaming of you
And
You can be my only girl
if I can be your only boy.
Love and extreme jelousy.
True fact
This fact
And it is funny
You strike my mind
And warm my body
I get on my way to you
I just miss you like deadly
And soon to meet
Muscles energizes
And I need you badly
We do it
And
Ghosh...I said last time
Was the last time.
I gnaw my teeth.
Nkt!
Today was the last time
Today every time
Reminds me this painful term
"I said it was going to be my last!"
Maybe I hate it
Maybe I am confused.
My First I call it
We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
It's worth it though.

— The End —