Good mourning.

Grew up seeing the tears from those seen for only sex

and the pathetic flex that turn the blessed to a hex

so I made a deal with me to never play the "who's next."

Though the world changed too quick

everyone understands the language of the dick

cheating speaks to the beauty not a fragile ego full of shit

but, no, not me over a decade alone and when it comes to this

what I miss is, the taste of the night filled with the slow, endeavour fuelled licks.

But I cant seem to escape the power play

the leash that turns to a whip, unable to enjoy the trust of the day.

Keeping it up.

Can't keep up the appearance

always looking for the higher sent

to give me the moving clearance

for the rights of the lovers ascent

but, for this, I fear the no coherence

"Where are thou, my hyacinth"

I need your adherence, perseverance.

A consistent show for the gallery

to earn the illusive immortal salary 

though I can see demons dancing around my finale.

It's not my aim 

for I'll never forsake, your name.

The lying standards.

Complain about men sleeping around

correction that I's not like that, eyes love bound

yeah but your not a real man, the feminists sound

tried to break me down so they can holler another penis found.

I will never sacrifice a real woman for these fucking hounds.