Frolic across the tear laden tissue skewed haphazardly about the desires of her heart I try not.
Far from being a man is the one who cares not for her feelings but only for that feeling he gets when they’re feeling…
Too much to loose she has when she lets him savor her sweet nectar… but she lets him because she thinks she has to.
Afraid of being alone she gives him her treasure, hoping and praying, convincing herself that this will keep him, this time it’s different, he is different, this time is the last time.
Sorry, but this time is now “last time” cuz the next time you’ll be thinking of the last time hoping that that time won’t lead to another next time looking at last time…
Another notch on your belt has been etched by the acid of another passionless romance. Who’s to blame?