If my so called Husband ever be real,
back to his time,
or to my time.
I'd squeal, oh indeed I would.
I imagine a newspaper article.
You little old timer, calls for the whores of the world.
I don't care for my fear, I'd go.
I'd be surprised, you'd be surprised.
"Heh, I..."
You'd clear your throat.
"A little reminder for the ladies."
Comes your flaw, my hands behind my back.
Darling, oh darling, I know to well. Whores scoff and leave.
I squeal more now, seeing you in the distance, there's only a few of us left.
Up, down, maybe around.
Inspection! Perfection!
Perfection?
Nein Ich bin Klein.
In almost everything.
As the wheels approach loser,
I swallow much pride.
I never win,
I'll never win,
not in a million years.
You smiled,
I looked up.
Feeling a skin to skin contact, I look at you,
growing nervous yet happy.
Heart pinging to so.
"You're young?"
"And I'll take you places you've never seen."
I boldly said.
"I want a beautiful women, but with a sick mind."
Over and Over.
Please, please, oh please!
Oh please!
Oh please!
Oh!
"We'll soon see Mein Schön!"
I won!
"Call off all the other ladies, this one is a winner."
Jeez, oh boy, naturality will win against the plastic looking, delicate, sex dolls.
YOU ARE READING
Roses, Riddles, and Poetry
PoetryWhatever I'm feeling, I sometimes talk in the language of Riddles. To only I understand, what the meaning is behind each sentence. Will just update this whenever, only making this to express myself.
