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My painter friend looked at me and laughed,
"I can't draw, I've told you that," I said.
"What a sad life to not be able to place your emotions on a canvas,"
he grinned.
"I don't paint but I write," I replied, "Want to know the difference?"
Intrigued he awaited for my answer,
"Your art is for the eye, but mine's for the heart."
Please don't ever ask me why man does what he does
Why he envies, Why he lies
Why he screams up at the sky
To a God that never dies

Please don't ask me why a man thinks the way he does
With all pride and no shame
Even when he is to blame
Yet forever he still reigns

Please don't ask me why man feels the way he does
Why he kills with bitter vengeance
Hiding from a masked menace
With no thought of repentance

Please don't ask me why man falls
Failing to take any weight at all
On his knees, breaking his brawl
Till only he can crawl
His mangled mind mauled

And please don't ask me why man endures the way he does
Even when there's nothing left to do
His mind's broken in two
And his final breath is due
Yet he somehow stands anew
I dream of your lips pressed against mine.With your hands exploring my body while you press me up against a wall.

I imagine you leaving me with hickeys, scratches and bite marks.
                                                          ­      
I think of cloths scattered on the floor and of you pressing me to you so there is no space between us.

I don't want flowers, chocolates and love.
                                                           ­     
I want lip biting, messy sheets and lust.
I want pure unadulterated passion
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