Wanton Cerebral Abandoning Poem by Dead Beat Poet

Nice is relative to what your expectations see,
if liking emptiness you're going to love my sound,
a recent past path is paved with so much of nice,
being pushed empty with nothing else to be found.

You have cracked open my solid black door of isolation,
the triple chain stop-locks are still securely attached,
the limited perspective of my slanted visual observation,
indicates your physicalsphere is more than finely detached.

To need to rush the bodies because our minds have begun casually mating,
efforts made to hurt another are completely alien to either of me,
affliction of emotion should only occur if it is facilitated + consenualizing,
thoughts of soft touching bring real winces of personal agony.

We have already shared cerebral intimacy without ever being alone,
our subconscious minds have bugan the prance to start the holler,
there is no way to displace my vision with another moan on loan,
start with pleasant pleading and or paying at least one-dollar.

The only stabbing you'll ever drink from my dripping stein,
will come with pleasant pleading while laying on your back,
this is not offered freely nor for you to choose the time,
anticipating the remembrance of sharing the mind track.

The dacriphiliac inside only feeds on wantonly crying,
when it is pleading for more of what's on the inside.
when it comes to looking at each others deep dieing,
wantonly fear in the seeking what you will probably find.

because fear of you is unlikely it has yet to enter our minds,
because we've already looked and enjoy our tweeking around,
because by invitation we have already felt up your deep insides,
because your weakness and fears were all i wanted to be found,
because there is nothing left to reveal to another with no guide.

Yearning to respond with poetry is something like a trance,
there may be some day when mostly alone we will be,
you always get to share me is to be understood in advance,
only with our words can we truly see crystal dark clearly.

My house is on fire it's not wise to stop & rediscover pleasure,
neo-virginity has half a decade of waiting on the shelf,
although everyone is always looking up to me for the treasure,
i am the one who feels like a dark and lonely little lost elf.

Your words inspire me to touch like they want mi caressing,
would be proud to print & maybe stand along side,
there are even those who are already asking,
what you are writing and where it is you hide.

i have been falling down with everyone i know,
standing around watching and clapping aloud,
my poetic license has been rejected with glow,
while living in the poetry capital of the world.

This is all that i enjoy or want to ever do and be,
if writing is dumb then i'm a dense moron,
it is not possible to fear those like me,
because like you i am the only one.