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

You'd rather hear me my moans while we fuck.
Then hear all narratives I write.
In every punctuation, & every I wrote,
Your name in disguise, lyrics I write.
I find you in the lines. In every space you hide.
But you see, one similarity, in all of shakespeares' tragedies,
Every young dies.
poisoned, stabbed, or drowned.
Maybe he realized,
some are only meant to sleep 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 slammed in my face. But 3 words can open legs, that's for sure.
So who needs guns to when you have words?
They do say the pen is mightier 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 long enough?
Isn't that this story begun?