Usually it was after the second pack of smokes that inspiration came into his soul but today it came after the second cigarette And when inspiration hit he'd grab the paper and pen and write letters old style He was a romantic My love, he wrote, this is the 272nd letter I write you, and its subject will be the idea of impossibility. I think impossibility is highly subjective, my love. I for one can climb Mount Everest in my shorts if I want to, but one thing I'll never ever do is get over you. I dream you every night. Every. Damn. Night. And I wake up and grab the dress you left behind and I wrap its strap around my penis like one of those rubber rings meant to make you last super long. I've been doing it for… a long time, love. Believe me…
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Boom boom!
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̿̿ ̿̿ ̿’̿’̵͇̿̿з=༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ ༽=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿[} ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿
yep.
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I would love to shove myself to that too…
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(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
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Welll done! It’s raw!
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Oh, thanks ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ
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Oh, my! This piece is heart-wrenching with great scenery. 🖤
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Thank you (=^ェ^=)
I think it’s one of those pieces that started as a nice, heartwarming little story and got twisted along the way.
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(ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥🌀
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Haha, I get that. The poem chose its own path. 😄
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(◐‿◑) That’s what I like to believe too 🙂
It’s what makes writing fun, instead of having it feel like work.
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hahahaha, wow!
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ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ Thanks!
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Very interesting,
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( ∩ˇωˇ∩) Thanks!
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