Suffering from the unmet needs of flesh,
Needed to pay for the help, needed to pay for a body
Wish I were promiscuous, able to feel anothers love
Indulge myself in shallow sex with a different one more and more,
I’d keep it quiet; secret, discreet
After cigarettes cool down, they’ll be gone
Toss them one after another, wanting to soon feel electricity
Even after paid endeavors tonight,
I’m still alone.
I’d still like to have that man in my life.
I love him, in every way,
But his sentiments are not the same.
All I want to feel
Is nudity and passion
How lovely it must be for him
How lovely it must be for him to know that he broke me
Broke my bones, stabbed my heart
Burnt holes into my skin,
made me feel like jagged pieces of glass were piercing through me
It hurts that I won’t see him again
It hurts that we’ll no longer meet again
Just echoes and sadness
Happiness is a disease
It’s a mirror that you’re always looking into
A situation you’re sooner or later inherently bound to
Happiness keeps you dedicated
Stamps a scar on your heart for when it breaks
Happiness encourages sorrow
Plagues the psyche with bittersweet emotion
Happiness is all alone, getting drunk, buying sex, thinking of him during
Nothing else left in my life any longer,
It’d be best
to end it.
Don’t pretend just because we’re familiar with one another I’m just gonna outlandishly give you my identity.
I’m not going to give you one of the things that put me into dark desolation just because you ask for it.
Can I carry my own? Why, yes. Of course. Every human being is capable of repressing emotions; enveloping who they are within foreshadowing secrets and lies. Carrying your own is arguably the easiest thing to do in a lifestyle, arguably the loneliest.