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Can I write you every day? I don't know. A poem might be just two lines or it might be a lifetime.

It might be a confession or it might be a concession. It might be an ask or it might be a tell.

How would I know what these words want from me to ask of you?

How can I turn this thing into action? Suppress vulgar me and find salvation in transcendent you.

Is it the other way 'round? Maybe I'm the base and you're the acid I'm meant tone down.

Or I'm just another whore. And maybe, just maybe you're a proper locked door.

Can I write you every day? I don't know. A poem might be just two lines or it might be a lifetime. It might be a confession or it might be a concession. It might be an ask or it might be a tell. How would I know what these words want from me to ask of you? How can I turn this thing into action? Suppress vulgar me and find salvation in transcendent you. Is it the other way 'round? Maybe I'm the base and you're the acid I'm meant tone down. Or I'm just another whore. And maybe, just maybe you're a proper locked door.
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[–] • 1 pt

Sweet, Faggot? Mo' like Minced Meat Maggot. Sweet, like an Apple, Fallen from a Tree, Cider to ferment, without Concession, nor Consent Fruits Drop without reason or Rhyme Niggaz like you accuse me of making Guacamole without a hint of Lime.