What is it about **** that attract men and women.

Is it the *******, the sights, the sounds or is it their fantasy.

Is it their neurotic or ****** styles of motion that leaves them at awww,
or the sizes of disbelief.

What is it that attracts men and women. Is it lonlyness, cellabsy or the lack of.

Is it ok to watch **** during a bachlor or bachloret party. With your partner for ****** arousment, a boring day, or because your parter no longer particapates, or just because.

Yes some hate it, yet most love it.

****, ****, ****, ****, ****, ****

Even the word **** sounds ***** yet ****.

Why is it hard for people to pull their eye's away even though they say it's disgusting.

****,
From the funny mustaches and the funny beats in the 70's. To the ****** implacations, to live websites.

There's teasing ****, soft ****, ******* ****, group **** (******), hurting ****, painful ****, **** beyond belief.

Me, yes I have watched **** but never paid for it.  Yes, I've surfed the sights. But why, curiosity ? Who's to say.

Trapped in the rabbit hole, forever a lifelong journey
To meet and greet the cards and paint the roses red.
Sipping tea from cups that look more like forks.
Where has the Hatter gone, along with his parter the Hare?
And what of Mr. Dormouse? He's gotta be in there.
The Queen of Hearts has faded away, like a palpitation.
The Cheshire cat has spent his nine, giggling in the dark.
Dare we speak of Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee?
They got a domestic partnership, and live forever as combs.
Then we come to the White Rabbit, who seemingly late
had to be eaten, and tasted rather great.
The most pleasing thing to my mind
Was that the flower bed, soft for chattering lilies and roses
Was now harder than fruitcake, severing their vocal chords.
Now they just stood there, silent and foreboding.
All the while, I was the hub of Wonderland.
That's what you get when an Amazon goes down the Rabbit hole.
(Inspired from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass)

Now, I always wait
For the other shoe to drop
Good things aren't for me

But I fight these thoughts
Incumbent storyteller
Perhaps, he is wrong

To the limits!
And the heaves are harmed, in our lungs
and arms. Tendons flexed on their utmost,
and breath at play in the drowned coast.

To the shores!
And the leaves are left as specks of colour,
from the moors.
and vacations left the hinterlands
of the decayed, breathless holler.

For the greater good we stood as imagined heroes,
Yet for happenstance to lend a chance in our woes,
required a great many motifs
to clamour and climb
In glamourous time
to the raised butte
of a finishing sublime.

Modulate the past and harmonize the future.
Together tapestry'd, akin to patchwork suture.

We weren't raised this way.
To remain forever at play, workhorses neigh.
And sawing brilliance and sawdust eyes,
rapier wit with no equal.
But together a two-parter,
to the shores to see the sea quell.

Wildfire lick like lit flame.
Burn it all down and give me the blame.
It's a carried burden worth the worry.

In mountains some exist as prideful barons.
Barring the loss of their barren,
their smiles turn smirks of heathen carrions.
Which is fine, and the motif licks again.
And the motive is sublime; it's only sin.

Cherish the children and their rue of thresher-born,
Thomas Ligotti and his party of philosophy,
but I'm too caught in histrionics to allow the matter
to matter.
Beyond the kicking feet of the mirthful pitter-patter,
pitted against the coming solstice of time saving;
forward and back and ouroboros we may.
Hold on tight to this singular day.
Ignorant of the causes of our own decay.
Lost during summers covered in spittle and seaspray.
Only to mount a return, a loss,
to the area most unaccepting of the cost.

To the mountaintops!
**** what you see, and reap what you sow.
Push the mountains down into the crow,
and call out for the all the denizens below,
"Here's another landslide." As you call; Heave, and **.
Pile them neat and plant a seed,
of a tree that hasn't belonged or had a chirped song
in a placidity.

A fading light,
A heroic night,
to come.
To live.
To dance.
To move along.

Shadows briskly walking
In the dark.
We scheme and plan,
to leave our mark.

Every trick is a treat.
And every scream, we meet,
A new ghost, goblin,
and other fools.

Who needs candy
when I know you'll never leave?
My parter in crime,
on All Hallow's Eve.

Being in love with you is like being on a see-saw.

It's not much fun to ride one unless you have someone to sit on the other side.

One is always up, and one is always down.

And that's just how it's meant to be.

You can try your hardest to be on equal levels of happiness,
knees shaking and smiles failing to either rise,
nor fall.

It's never going to be like that.

One is always up and one is always down.

Feet planted firmly in the ground.

And then for a few minutes you are soaring and
looking at your parter with
tears in your eyes.

Whether of happiness or sadness
that doesn't matter anymore.

Because regardless,
there is someone who loves you on the other side.
Matching you stride for stride.

Like swing-sets at sunset and monkey-bars.

I guess we all learned love at the playground.

Oh to love
I am cusred with the knowledge of of love
To be loved
Never will it end
To have ones heart broken
Torn apart
Oh to be naive
Naive again
To not know
The pain
The gaping hole in your heart
Your chest
The ache
The longing for the feeling
Oh to be loved
Is all you ever want
Ever Crave
You hope for yesterday
You hope for tomorrow
Oh to be loved
The greatest feeling
So human
So Normal
To want to love
To have love
To have it build up inside you
To the point where you think you will explode
It Has such power
Oh to love
Spin my head and my heart
I beg
I want to want
And I want to feel
To never be alone
To have a parter of everything
To be complete
Different parts of a puzzle
That shouldn't fit
But somehow do
Making the impossible, possible
That is love
Oh to love
Oh to love