poetry
my life is real life poetry, cause my metaphors are somethin like my similes, how can that be when love is just a mere image, like the pond in the desert, it looks good til it pass away, love is just like yesterday, its no longer here so im lookin for lust, but most times it turns into bust, cause in the end im just tryin to bust, so i called lust the number one draft pick. so what will hurt me the most thinkin about yesterday or my number one draft pick. just think about it
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