Must I Fall?
Why must I fall, before I can even stand on my feet. Weakness is a virtuous way to describe the current state, Of which I currently sit in the midst, of begging you to release my captive being, from the hellish state of lust. Why must I cloud my mind, objectifying such marvelous royalty? For the perfume the radiates from your neck, quite frankly send my senses into chaos. Why must my mind salivate at the idea of you and I? Every attempt to rid my mind of such a wonder less thought, proves to be more inefficient than the previous, but I continue to play a series of us in my head, to prove to you silently that I am serious instead. Why must you forecast sunny lies, even when the forecast said it would indeed be rainy skies? How am I supposed to see past the disguise, or do I wait for the real you to come out to be surprised?