Take twenty years off of my life.
Put one hundred thousand dollars cash in my hand.
Tell me things are going to smell like ‘Begonias’
For the rest of my life.
And I’ll even make you a batch of my homemade pancakes,
To throw in on the side.
Until further notice…
If you do not see me doing a foxtrot,
With the sounds of a polka.
You can bet…
I am experiencing a happiness shortage.
And your anguish,
Somehow…
Has lost a few beats with my rhythm.
You’ll Get over it!
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Rotated monotony,
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Deplete not from me,
Let me face it.Without discouragement.Or hurry to hide…From that which I do not like.Or might disturb me inside.Or deny.Let my consciousness accept,What my eyes and head rejects.With an openness my heart allows…And helps me respect.Remove my quickness to object,A reality that may upset.That comes to challenge my neglect,As it is reflected.And not to deceive myself…
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Smut!
But you wish to be discreet about it.You don’t want it like the others…Those who take and keep it.And parade it while they flaunt.You like your smut in secret.In sighs you’d rather moan,Stroking under sneaky sheets!And not doing that alone.You like your smut…Down low and dirty.Wishing to keep this your private treat!That’s understood.But pretending you’re…
Haunted by your own remarks?
To impart?And when the truth surfaces…You can not take your misdeeds back.And the one you criticized with your falsities,Is also aware of that.Which one of you do you ‘think’…Has a mind filled with guilt,That invisibly stays on the mind and attacks?Could it be the one,Who knows exactly what you’ve done?Let’s say…The odds are not in…