Less than thirteen years old on buses giving BJs to boys.
Show you mine and you don’t need to show me yours.
Falling into the hole.
I need to find the missing “W”.
Don’t value your own treasure if you’re liquored up enough.
Is it all for the rush, for the feeling of touch?
Next to one’s skin, miscreants make it crawl.
Sacks of flesh get on the bandwagon and join the fun.
Marriage is in the toilet since no one is under the gun.
Just sexing it up with anonymous donors
to fill the void, to feel love –
without tenderness or care –
without the possibility for fresher air.
We just keep taking the meaning away –
the more we say –
“everything is all right”.
When, in actuality, only proving decay.
Aching to fill up
by giving it all away.