In my secluded zone, Where the sun don't shine, Admiring a treasure I call my own. My most prized possession. Climax reaches utmost erection, As visuals form in the section. A place where I reside, Where time doesn't exist. Bonds form and worlds become, A unique type of custom. Soft spoken voices, Dance around in the interior. Sweet meaningless words, Many adjectives and verbs. Introduced to many perks, Yet what lies in the dark, Is a true intention that lurks. One touch is euphoria, Suppressed desires, Become wild fires. In this intangible area, Delirious from the hysteria. Where ideas form and collide, Arguments transpire on the inside. Decisions made constantly, What does the outside, Want from me?
If you read it entirely, you'll see it's about inside my mind. Secluded means solitude. "Where ideas form and collide," is an example. You're selectively reading. Just because I'm a freak doesn't mean I'd make a poem about sexual intercourse, miss. Smh, have trust that I wouldn't post it on forums at least
Can I get a moderator's assistance? Don't 14 Year olds automatically get expelled? If so, I'd like to report Alicia.
Have you seen her? No. I bet a pic of her wouldn't even have my flow of blood rushing. (No need to explain, since you should already kno).
Not feeling it... sounded like typical WPS. Put a guitar behind it and let the head-banging ensue. And to further break that down... it’s when you over explain something that is easily grasped through imagery instead of using grandiose vocabulary. This is why I’ve always held impressionalist in higher regard than photograhers. Impressionalist are honest. Photographers are like magicians.