I'm not scared of dying.
Living seems to be the
only frightening aspect of reality.
Just being is making foot prints at
all the places you been.
Your eyes are fixated on happiness
while the man in front of you has a
tool palpitating for you.
Grasping the tiny member is
like holding a baby carrot
his face was no better to
look at: scruffy face, double-chinned,
and ragingly *****.
Hands behind my neck curates
whats next ...
bobbing for apples and coughing
grudgingly
tearing eyes and exercised reflexes
give to the masterful art
of *******.
smiles are priceless, if met with
the supply of eye contact.
your heart isn't for sale, but
your orifices are.
Hyper-sexuality is the name of
the game.
your *** should be as big as your
ego, mouth wide enough to swallow
beer cans, and eyes sweet enough to
defile.
wiping your mouth
you find a hair.
"this means extra!" holding it
to him.
"I told you over the phone"
Man throws you the money and drops
you off at the local flea bag
hotel.
Waiting ... waiting ... waiting ...
the call of a stranger, can
be stranger than ever each time
you answer.
next guy wants you to play with his
****, while you humiliate him by
spitting in his face