I have ZERO motivation to write
and it is becoming quite
a problem all my
diary pages
are filled with flowers.
But I’m not sure if its to be
considered preservation
but not one sentence
has been able to properly escape
my brain nothing seems to
hit the paper
and its really so annoying
can someone PLEASE clarify
WHAT THE F*** IS A PROSE According to my mother I’m far to naive to know the difference between
lust and love
but mother dearest let me explain lust whispers : come over and let me touch you lust rips off your shirt while
love proclaims proudly : come here let me see the holy corners the ones at the end of your soul love gently kisses you’re forehead
as you hide in your hair
and it seems as if
what started as a rant turned into something beautiful
as most things
do by the
end of the
night