It has been a while since the continents divided.
It's been a black and white dream since the last time silk ran down my coat of arms.
A concerto of crackles from the fireplace, and still no sound like the breath you gave.
Natural oils engulfed from a freshly lit match, and still no place quite as warm as inside you.
Our minds spoke in swaying motions like a pendulum of sharp wit.
Together, pouring toward the center of ourselves, like boiling water.
We knew we would have to evaporate or overflow eventually. And that was the last time.

uppin it. man i can't anyone to say anything about my work?

come on man i just want to hear what people think. i need some critisizm so i can make my skills better.

< Likes it.

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your the only one - everyone else is sleepin on it.

this shit is like a hookers bed - its gettin mad slept on....

y'all suck if you sleep on this anymore. this is some tight emotional poetry and no one can add something to it. not a good job or even some constructive critisizm..............

to me that was bullshit. i know you could do a lot betta than that. that shit sounds like sumthin i would write. yous a lot betta than that kid. apply yaself dog.