Washed face, tired eyes.
The only thing I'm proud of is my sensual disguise,
I don't want you, i don't want your demise,
I want to **** your blood till I feel alive,
I don't get why people would want an entity so not benign,
I'll nurture the **** out you ill make you feel divine,
But all you'll be left with is a soul, tortured in rhymes that can't distinguish between, want, need and having a loss of what's mine,
Nothing in me, everything around me lets me be succulent in your eyes
or maybe all I have is pride,
keeping me away from what could be mine.