she is a blatant caricature in loud technicolor
her presence shouts sexual innuendo
alluring with dark undertones
her past shadows her every word
Sorrowful singing fill the air,
The casket lay flowerless and bare.
Clouds drearily weep above,
The ground puddling to mud.
The hole below hollow,
Death daring to follow.
So, it's taken me several years to build up the courage to even think about this story. My only wish is to purge myself and to hopefully inspire, inform, and encourage guys like me...
I remember your stare as a "friend" coerced your body,
As you sip some sin, we look through crowd of eyes,
And out of all the people here,
The only one that sees my pain...
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
― Khalil Gibran
“My pocket watch,” lamented a very displeased Ross, “who stole my watch!” Rose giggled, “Maybe a pirate snuck into the manor and swiped it from you in your sleep.” Ross...
I always know how you'll react when I say something, you don't change, you don't surprise, you don't risk, reading this I could bet you'd be presumptuous and discourteous towards...