To Writing

i miss you dawg. i miss you babe. i miss you dearly and you're always so close but i'm across this chasm that makes me sleep and look the other way the second i'm awake even though you're everything i wanted ever and you've given me all i need. still i look the other, as if though facebook's fake titties could compare to your voluptuous heart and all natural boobs. for real though, Writing, your boobs are amazing. They're perfect. they're cool on my face when the night is hot, and just warm enough when it's too cool. when i've got a back itch in that one impossible spot you get your perfect nipple rock hard and bounce your boobs up and down, lightly grazing my back while you remove my itch. and still i look away. i don't know what to do but write. but shit's hard. i've tried doing you until i pass out. it lasted a week. i bet you loved it. i crashed and burned out though. i threw you away. but then i touched you today, to the beat of a song, and you made me feel so alive and full of potential and unstoppable. i've got tons to confess, but will not do it yet. ima baby step it darlin. cus you wore me the fuck out. can't go balls out all the time. it gets hot out there. but i'm sorry i left you for long. and i'm still here, eh :) ima have to learn to be open again. be free and untouched by that inner editor that cares that y'all out there will think i'm crazy. but i am, so who gives a flying buttruckus.

ok ima listen to music. and see how this rekindled thinky goes.

night night Writing.

ps.
i'm stuck to you like gravity. loves.