Here I am again, just this paper and a pen.
So many thoughts to write out but everything goes blank once again..... Writers block, is every poets friend, ask them...

The End.

As the saliva drips from their fangs. I silently think to myself, "Clean your mouth, you're drooling!"
                                 A pack of wolves is what I would consider them                 as I listen to them talk about the women that walk by.      
             Talk about them as if they are nothing but flesh, a piece of meat they need to sink their                               teeth into.
        Discussing what they would do to her before ever knowing her name.
                   Nothing is more important than the hunt. The hunger of their ****** appetite overwhelms their rational thoughts.
             To think, who they would bite, if it was their daughter being hunted by the wolves.
             Famine is a plague,
    what would they be willing to do,
             if she tells them no?

I met a girl named Tequila who had a crush on Jose. It was like an icy crush but the whisky would wash it away. On a grey night a goose flew my way staying up late but the *** would make it fly away.

Too many 40s amounted. Too many, no one could have counted. But it was a party so we partied and brought out the Bacardi. It burned but didnt stop us hardly, someone screamed LETS PARTY!

Whispers from around, "man this party is narly" Passing around the yegger, text messages asking "hey, is this a kegger?" Jack showed up and met Tequila, pushed Jose aside and watched the moonshine...

On a southern, comfortable night, they possibly could have had *** on the beach but that was to explicit to speak. So drinking more wine till our legs got weak felt like the right path to keep.

No one seen that ***** was a sneak at 1:51 the time was so... Ever clear but the excitement didnt stop here. Mary got introduced to Molly and the ecstasy was colorful and jolly.

The excitement was rising but no one realized the girl crying, who was holding her boyfriend that was nearly dying.

"Breath!, breath!" she screamed. "I'm trying!" he gasped.  

Upstairs they're kissing and fondaling, downstairs they're puking and wondering.

Neither Jose nor Jack attended the funeral of those kids that brought them out that night. And the baby conceived that night wasn't named Tequila, Molly or Marry, she was just deemed a mistake, of that night.

Temptations are hiding in the lines of her skin.
She is the only book you can read in the dark.
She could destroy most men with just a flick of her hair.
But she can really rip your soul out with her stare, eyes brighter than a supernova and her smile, more mind blowing than the black holes she creates.
Her body, is the creation of infinity. Her voice is the reason there is no gravity in space.
She is acid rain running down your face and leaving you with that bitter taste.
She is the feeling of warmth, in an ice cold embrace.
I would imagine she is the reason men like me are here to write her into poetry. She is simply, just, a woman.