Luyện nghe bài hát Poetry, is my form of Prostitution.

You'd rather hear me recite my while we fuck.
Then all these narratives I write.
In every punctuation, & sentence I wrote,
Your in disguise, Every lyrics I write.
I find you in between the lines. In space you hide.
But you see, There's one similarity, in all of tragedies,
Every lover dies.
poisoned, stabbed, or drowned.
Maybe he realized,
some people are only meant to together,
six underground.
You were always headed.
But now you the hardest piece of him between your legs.
& no matter how I write, no metaphor,
can loosen the hinges or the door.
You in my face. But 3 words can open your legs, that's for sure.
So who guns to kill when you have words?
They do say the pen is than the sword.
& as I spend my days for a lovesick cure,
you spend every night for more.
So when you contract his disease.
come begging for love on your knees.
Haven't you been on them long
Isn't where this story begun?