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So Late, After Work, Done Tending, The Bar,

Texting me, To Come Over, She Knew, I Wasn't Far,

I made Pulled Pork If you want to pop over Beans and Brussel Sprouts I salivated Remembering her pussy which smelled of sweet clover

Shut down the bar, Lock it up Tight, Walk over to Ridge Ave, Hoping to not get in a Nigger Fight,

To her Apartment, To which, I have a Key, Walk up not one stair flight, But walk up three,

Top of the decaying, Industrial building, To her Domicile, With the Black Mold, Dominating her Ceiling,

And there she is, with her Dog, And two Cats, Beautiful Ass, And two humongous Tit-Tats,

Domestic and caring, She told me to sit down, While she cooked, But she noticed, How Hungry, My Predatory Gaze Looked...

A Smile, A Smirk, She Knew, when she asked

What exactly are you looking at?

Memories be gone, Those days, such a shell, But I'll never forget, The way her pulled pork did smell.

So Late, After Work, Done Tending, The Bar, Texting me, To Come Over, She Knew, I Wasn't Far, >I made Pulled Pork >If you want to pop over >Beans and Brussel Sprouts I salivated Remembering her pussy which smelled of sweet clover Shut down the bar, Lock it up Tight, Walk over to Ridge Ave, Hoping to not get in a Nigger Fight, To her Apartment, To which, I have a Key, Walk up not one stair flight, But walk up three, Top of the decaying, Industrial building, To her Domicile, With the Black Mold, Dominating her Ceiling, And there she is, with her Dog, And two Cats, Beautiful Ass, And two humongous Tit-Tats, Domestic and caring, She told me to sit down, While she cooked, But she noticed, How Hungry, My Predatory Gaze Looked... A Smile, A Smirk, She Knew, when she asked >What exactly are you looking at? Memories be gone, Those days, such a shell, But I'll never forget, The way her pulled pork did smell.
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[–] • 0 pt

I pissed away any thought of a future that might make money for a need to put pen to paper.

What do you want to write?

[–] • 1 pt

It's not what I want to write. It's that I felt the warmth of love and conflated it with burn of passion and turned that into a need to tell anyone who would listen that there is something more than the think is happening in the world around them. It has nothing to do with anything larger than the person who they just saw look back. All the magic in the world exists in that moment. I am a proper propogandist for the chasing of hearts.

It's not what I want to write. It's what I'm compelled to tell the world. I will go to my grave singing the song of chase that which holds your heart and that you give yourself to most dearest.

If I die penniless, alone, despised by all to whom I confess my heart, but regarded well enough by those who have read my works then I will have lived well enough by my measure. I'll be judged thereafter. That's less my business than that of my maker.

[–] • 0 pt

What do you want to write?

It's not what I want to write. It's that I felt the warmth of love and conflated it with burn of passion and turned that into a need to tell anyone who would listen that there is something more than the think is happening in the world around them. It has nothing to do with anything larger than the person who they just saw look back. All the magic in the world exists in that moment. I am a proper propogandist for the chasing of hearts.

It's not what I want to write. It's what I'm compelled to tell the world. I will go to my grave singing the song of chase that which holds your heart and that you give yourself to most dearest.

If I die penniless, alone, despised by all to whom I confess my heart, but regarded well enough by those who have read my works then I will have lived well enough by my measure. I'll be judged thereafter. That's less my business than that of my maker.

Alright faggot, what do you feel compelled to write?

Do you want to collab?

[–] • 1 pt

That's actually a damned good question. I gave up poetry for a few years because it felt like I was just writing the same thing over and again.

I'm not much of a writer but I'd offer what I can.

I think I'm too much consumed by pretty girls of late. How do you feel about nature writing?

I won't make any promises because I'm an inconsistent writer but, I would be open to trading thoughts on deserts, forests, frost, ponds, lakes, fronds, volcanos, ashen clouds, azure skies, and the like.

Take me away from this shit I've ben penning to the delight of the zombies in my head and maybe I'll rise to the occasion of satisfying someone else's need to pretend to not be dead.