
If Love Were?

I don't write. I create.




I blocked the bitch.
I blocked the bitch.
I stopped the bitch.
I locked off the bitch.
I dropped the bitch.
Cut off the bitch.
Read the bitch and shocked the bitch.
Keep your one sided activities, ignorant mindset and lack of complete narrative. I don’t need any of it.
The understanding that you are who you are: means that I’ll always grow being true to myself.




On my?
With my?
On time!
On time!
Ooo, meet me at the beach!
I love you.

Interesting addition to the clothes I wear.
I add many things to this small, zipped, denim location.
Tissue, paracetamol, lip-balm, eye-drops, hand cream, lemon sherbet drops and a three page letter.
I wrote about 2020.
I transferred pain from my heart, to these pages, to my pocket.
I released everything. Yet, I keep memories folded and close by.
Maybe, they’ll wash away the deeper I stride into this scenic lake.
I’m blessed.
The only thing that matters is my birth.

With my breasts if you think they’ll help you become a better man.
With my body if you find peace at home.
With my mind if you need hope.
But never play with my heart.
At all the rats in the sewers, if it helps you to reflect on how much of a dick you are.
She forced him to sell his cock, to people who were willing to pay for 2 inches.
I pretended to be elsewhere.
Really I was here, or rather nearby.
I stared into your main and vied for your attention.
I didn’t sleep until? Well, never.
I relied upon the moment and the stupidity of ‘good advice.’
I floated back down to my senses and made a cup of tea.
I’ve paused for 29 minutes.
Lingering around, thinking.
Plotting.
Narrative!
To post something.
Haha.
I’m posting now and backdating it.
The mighty power of technology.
Haha.
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