Warning. Stand clear of hazardous areas-You tread a tired trail. Don’t step or risk scandalous varieties- In the coffin, goes the final nail.
I yearn for love felt, internal–My thoughts my only solace. Onto my faith knees fall eternal–And your carnal knob I beg to polish.
Too dirty, you slut, I no longer doubt… With my pain, you’re forever bound.
Army of None
Why do the melancholy have no friends?We feel so much–’tis no folly–We love. We fight. We lose. It never ends.
We may be ‘furiously happy and dangerously sad’–We love deliriously, to pitiful ends.
Why do those who suffer so– Endure the cold and cruelest blows? Why does our fight end it plight? And with no allies anywhere in sight?
(c) Mary Strayhorne ALL RIGHTS RESERVED