Why should I keep writing, when
there is no one to write for.
All that I have written, made me
less attractive, made me hopeless

Chanceless, I feel so stupid, sad
and mistaken, does nobody
not a single girl, think I'm cute enough
to help me out of this sightless hole

Tell me I'm not useless, tell me there is
someone out there, tell me it's you.

I'd write about you, for you, with you, metaphores come automatically
Words arrange themselves when you bring them to me.
It's not necessary to like my writings, just be flattered that I'd do it for you.

Isn't that what really counts, counting the days till I see you
meet you, recognizing, each other, missing piece, long lost feelings
rejoined.

Join me in my journey, escape the nets of fishers, escape the cages of the zoo
escape the reservoirs. Together we could be unique creatures. Loved and hated
Adored, adore me like a cold sundae on a hot sunday.

His hands,
His hands,
He didn't have the right hands.

They weren't shaped right,
They weren't the right size,
They didn't feel right pressed against my body.
His hands didn't cup my ******* with love.
They didn't look like those of a strong man.

I've dreamed of these hands since I was young,
And I don't know why.
I haven't been able to find the right ones.

The right touch,
The right grasp,
The right hands.

I can see the veins,
Pressing against the surface of his skin.
The small lines sprawled across his palms.
His fingers a certain length,
His knuckles a certain size.
His hands,
The right ones.

Man of my dreams,
Only in my dreams,
His hands in my heart,
His hands the right hands.