My heart is driven and sure, black and white are clear.
There are things to be tended to, people to take care of.
Relations. Projects. Responsibility is wafting in my face like a bed scent.
Fantasies return, I'm talking to myself again, dreams are more wild.
Am I really committed? Am I just joking with myself?
I am true and I am just, but I am crazy with extreme thoughts.
My dread gets in the way, smoking makes my heart palpetate,
but it's not enough.
I am well loved, and am satisfied in bed, I ache for his touch every waking moment.
but I wonder what that attractive passerby would be like; would he be rough, or slow?
I like to be dirty, but not repulsive,
but who doesn't look at a messy child wanting to bathe them?
It's not about being rebellious, it's about a lust bursting.
Curiousity didn't kill the cat,
it embraced him before he passed on due to 'circumstances.'
I don't care if I die sooner because I smoke,
I don't care if my mom calls my dread a rat's nest,
I don't care if I was raised to have one lover,
I will dream of having several.
It's all about experience, baby.
Honey, don't steal dreams, they aren't indulgent.