My **** is in anonymous kisses of some unknown shore where the tide undulates to it’s own exotic rhythm you can call it lust when playing with fire becomes a necessity working in the fields towards a better crop in the age of reckless apathy everybody knows how to smile having fun because it’s all that is left to do I am caught in a vice grip so roll up another because this room is starting to seem real the sky is either orange or purple or something else and my cup is far from full you have to know yourself otherwise when high tide rolls through you will lose yourself to pretty cheerleaders and too many consequences that you let slide she isn’t very good with directions which explains how she found herself here laughing and saying pretty things as the last light bulb burns out leaving me in another self-inflicted dark room whispering my secrets to the moon