She has odd again - leftover me with a taste for her skin. left open sores from forgotten wounds that are silently buried with in. I sit, wait, and anticipate a friendly hello or pass just now instead I stick myself wondering therefore? On that note I shall reflect and envision moments of tog lying on the floor, for my lust filled heart coffin nail do nothing much then flake you with my eyes. Doesnt it hurt, she did plead as she scurries, distributing neglects weight. Alone now, I agree and I dictate, twinge is all I know how to feel and the more I get the less that its real. This sick, twisted man I am has sold his soul, abused his health, and lost his mind. With nothing left he lives through: inebriation, desire, and empty lies. Writted by Eric Dick June 6, 2004.
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