Picture of girls face: 10 likes
Picture of girls face featuring slightly/**** near totally visible ***** bumps: 5000 likes.
What the **** people, its the SAME GIRL.
Her **** are there in BOTH PICTURES yo.
But due to the difference in likes, there's no doubt as to what the true focal point of the photographs are.
Honestly, I'd much rather see a picture of a ladies face instead of one featuring the awesome breasticles.
Because, while those **** do, without a doubt, totally rock, they should also be respected and like, viewed as something special for only that certain special person to see.
CONTAIN YOUR **** YOUNG FEMALES FOR THE LOVE OF ******* GOD.
You aren't attracting very respectable fellows by being so flaunty.
People that are into you only for your ****/various other dank body parts you may or may not have, will most definitely end up hurting the beautiful blood pumping anomaly that lies behind said ****.
I mean it's your body, do what you want to do with it, but there are more then enough **** bouncing around the world right now to clog our minds with sexuality and distract us from accomplishing things as it is.
WE DON'T NEED YOUR **** IN OUR FACE.
not to mention, some day you're going to find a man or a woman that's going to love you for the super radical person that you are, and to them, your **** will just be like, the most awesome bonus, and by covering up just a bit more for all the numb skulled hard dicked mother ******* this world seems to have an endless supply of, you'll make that special person feel so so so so so so sooooo much more special when THEY get to see them.
You know what i'm saying?
We're in a society where your **** can take you further then your personality can and it's ******* *******.

Bronzer from neck down,
Diamonds on her neck, gold chains dragged by breeds.
Queen bee.
Mistaken, amiss, untrue champagne hair sprayed till shiny.
Glamorous eyes shine in the darkened nights.
To floral crop tops,
To flaunty knee-high shorts.
You wait hand on foot.
She demands.
Sunglasses perched up on her false nose, not even a dime pitched in for bills.
Her ****** struts catch eyes, but don’t bring any of them home.
Chewing on that gum,
Hundred dollar watch branded on her wrist.
Diva.
Bottles herself up, but not the children who need it most.
Lamborghini on point,
Lipstick in its place.
Rubs herself down with the most expensive lotion,
Checks her acrylic, high gloss nails.
Mascara filling, cheeks blushed, pearls on those ears.
Has the world in the palm of her white fair hands.
Crazy.
All of this, but can’t pay a house bill.

An inflating reverie,
An nostalgic memory,
A far reaching boulevard,
lingering to debacle from
my stumbling and unsteady feet.

The days are long,
But the nights could be longer.
The moon hasn't cast a single fortune smile on me,
But it is nothing there but for the grace of the sun, that I take a trip back to the
             Memory lane.

I hope you miss me as much as I do
I hope you don't go to bed with quivering hands or a distraction to keep your bed warm, or that the only onomatopoeia that remains in your house are empty bottles of alcohol clashing against each other harder than you clash your wrist over the scattering pieces of mirror that still remains on your bathroom wall.
The one you out-layed with your bare knuckles because you're tired of watching your soul bleeding in prepetuum at night.

I know the colour of crimson still remains throughout the dimness, and that the sun never sees you bleeding.
Your fragileness wilts quicker at night time than it does at daytime, and I know the moon laughs at your woe and misery.
It's been months, but I still feel obstacles stuck between my teeth and a wire wrapped around my tongue.
I feel my oralability whisking up into the lusterless sky, and the moon exchanges a hint of death and accomplishment.
Droplets of warm venom streams smoothly down my cheeks, because I remember how you haven't been crying warm tears on my shoulder in a very long time,
And it is no wonder I shiver myself to sleep every night I close my eyes.

See, we're from two completely different scenario's,
You and I.
You engage your suffery into more pain than you're likely to feel, and I allow myself to remember.
The warm, summer nights filled with love and stars.
The nights where I got hom with the light to the porch still glowing brighter than your flaunty appearance I'd acquaint myself with once I step over the treshold
When watching your yellow sundress fluttering in the open wind wasn't as bad as whirling droplets of blood spattering against my mirror reminding me of how you're bleeding from the
Outside,
And I'm bleeding from the
Inside
When we were happy,
        do you remember?

“Take away, the paper;
cuts a hole in the heart.”

Like bloom anew, awoken,
and envious: a verde-begotten
flaunty smirch veiled upon;
to flourish, now or maybe then?

Thereon fringes; in between spaces,
And the perversely peeking quills
spying; as eager ambience instills;
The silver bearing fissures seethes

red to be and yet; I see it paler,
that I might have it shed if ever
a pearl would shine over its beholder,
I’d dye me green, and cast that hand away.

“Drift away, the ink;
trails farewell apart.”