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

You'd rather hear me my moans while we fuck.
hear all these narratives I write.
In punctuation, & every sentence I wrote,
Your in disguise, Every lyrics I write.
I you in between the lines. In every space you hide.
But you see, There's one similarity, in all of tragedies,
Every young dies.
poisoned, stabbed, or drowned.
Maybe he realized,
some people are only meant to together,
six underground.
You were hard headed.
But now you carry the piece of him between your legs.
& no how much 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 needs guns to kill you have words?
They do say the pen is mightier the sword.
& as I spend my searching for a lovesick cure,
you every night begging for more.
So when you contract his disease.
come begging for love on your knees.
Haven't you on them long enough?
Isn't where this story begun?