Sometimes I feel it, sometimes I don\'t
For I am a wayward flower
Desperate to be plucked--
Oh wayward horse, why are you running?
For I want death to stomp on me!
For here are a myriad of roses,
I appreciate the love
And kiss me with those wayward lips
Kiss me with your burning breath,
For I am wayward still.
Do not burn my bosoms though
For I will disappear
Into the darkest abyss of your love--
Your love is a drunken stupor
And I am the strain
Our bodies roll
Our bodies scream...
Poetry is the greatest sex
Oh what a brilliant facade
Have sex with me, but mean it please
For sex with a narcissist stinks
Where are the roses that died last night?
For this is all a fantasy...