There's a possibility I'm carving my life into script, with every scar I inflict upon myself.!.
Not on the surface for it is adored by most chicks but within like a kid marks an under-desk.!.
In my garden beneath the trees lies fruits so ripe, they capture my heart when I can't catch my breath.!.
I might flirt with my eyes but the giving in's my demise, though my lips are sealed and my heart's long swept.!.
My void echoes in ruin as I shy away from affection but like a kettle, my pleasure is a steam of lust.!.
Unwilling to trust and a challenge to share, I long for your touch though it brings tears to my eyes.!.
Now my thoughts are all but masks of lies from the truth, they're my dreaded shame which I could never correct.!.
Knowing views are just views I've rejected all polls, living on my own terms embodying my imperfections.!.
And I'd sooner let my pride fold before it's told or crumble before its sold, being the only true value I've kept.!.
Yet in the midst of feuds for submitting to my self-exploitation, I felt wronged for the best of me was not met.!.
So I'll live one thousand lies awaiting one faithful try, before being defined by someone else's perception.!.