So i really don care if do or don't comment. These poems aremore just or me to get things off my back. |
To fight it like to stand in the born.
No clothes...
To cress,
The moons heat beating...
Questions you ask,
For what i hold...
Inside my hand;
It's gold i hold...
Ma-by i would like to tell you,
Of something i can see...
I'm rubber, |
Men are what there mothers made them. |
You are my breath, |