the illusion of prosperity is caused by man’s inability to rely on and sustain himself without the desire to be worshiped by others.
this life is about doing what you want to make you happy.
art and wine mix quite fine
like rose and scent, ‘pon thy line,
there your skin, just like mine,
sits quietly among our noses.
Who is this looking at me so ludicrous,
My mind is a jungle and my eyes uterus,
Birth a new vision yall can see truth exist,
Earn a few wishes I can be humorous,
Funny kind of humor but I be serious,
At times I see through hooligans,
Let me tell you dudes what I do to present this,
I write my own but I got dues to the bestest.
Everybody talks shit,
I’m a shit talker too,
When I see a fool do,
What I never would!
Better believe I’ll spew,
The scrutiny I should,
Will it be understood,
I’m no greater than you?
Must be funny when,
After a second or two,
You will come to find,
I’ve committed that crime,
But don’t call me a sinner,
You sin all the time!
Go waste your breath,
While I taste my wine.
Your veil makes you that much more,
Attractive to my inner yearnings,
Oh how I wish that I could be,
Underneath that cotton surface
covering your head, tracing along your hair,
Down your arched spine.
I see you in my dreams,
Lying on the softness of my bed sheets,
Your olive skin against them,
Drowning in a pool of white feathers;
They fall from my pillowcases,
Into the nakedness between your thighs.