Finding the aesthetics in my prose, fails without the mention of femininity. Even though a man can have delicate traits, one may argue that the woman naturally exceeds in this area. However in the animal kingdom the male seemingly has the most lustrous appearance. Why most we fight out animal instincts, and thus we should be more like the metrosexual grooming ourselves in the most fashionable way to appease the eyes of the female. Who are we to deny their lust, from start to finish of the courting process. Does not love have a portion of physical attraction a portion that may void love without. Actions speak louder so let our appearances scream.
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Unified inmates is a crime on the inside.
Chaos is wanted doing time on the inside. Unity is a crime we divide on the inside Minions working for time working for dimes on the inside. Dressed alike in uniform taught to grieve one another. In the military the camouflage bands you together. But organized convicts causes wraft for the staff. Causing disorder is their orders here perfecting their craft Because unified inmates is a crime on the inside. But for a dime of our time we can bond on the inside. Divided we fall. Judging ourselves between fire and rivers, where we define existence as living.
Attracted to the sight of things our tongues claiming to be loving. Our anger quickly reveals the truth, discourse, fear, and shame. Love is the step we take than marry into the name. Such a name unlike the others with a universal ring. Of course we will strive the path where the garden rivers sang extraordinary the way we seek beyond our inner self the burning for desire of the love of little wealth. The bride and groom minor tools to fake it in this gray. Holding on to all our stuff like our-selves are here to stay. On the come down I speak, 2 days without sleep.
48 hours one meal, and the hunger is too real. What knowledge can you bring me, the hallucinated voices said, Mind reading every word hidden in your heads. I've done it all before the guilt of the future. No matter the life for sure death will take ya. One sip of the poison and good judgment is gone. Acting bad, locked in, this echelon I'm on. Lacking control of spiritual correction. Struggling for wisdom, praying for protection. Looking to the stars and never forgetting. We're seeds from the dirt that the Spirit was blowed in. From the Spirit we're sowed then. Created by Victory so our enemies get no wins. So easy to love, the feelings of buzzed binge. Mind groggy, unbalanced, and completely off hinge. So many mistakes I've made and to think that there all sins. Seeking the love of the Creator and praying that we stay friends. Everyday is fight or flight within the caged yard
Being tough means working out and becoming body hard. Then no matter what freedoms we claim, we prisoners are censored. No way can we be honest in judicial matters, case truth is mild tempered. We know that a dead victim can't speak, nor can a family grieve if they too bleed. There is no doubt, nothing but a devious mind, could even explore such extreme measures. Even attempting to be released early, is like digging for buried treasures. So begins the traumatic thoughts, of killing this alleged victim. Then never will it cease, this most prisonatic syndrome. |
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