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Still Life's Lil Enigma
feelings hurt without reason, almost a whole season of living, no trace of love, swallowing tears about the above, HEARTACHE. Listen as I partake, in this self pity, witty is what they call me. While I smile through the pain, bitter disdain, is the stinch on my skin that seemingly, only I can smell. Preventing my eyes to well, for that would prove that I am imperfect. Wondering, will this all be worth it....one day. This exsistence , assistant living may be my destiny, wordly things getting the best of me, when all I wanted was to be treasured as a human being, praying that the seeing can see past my face, tits and ass....... continue, go on and pass over me like a storm cloud filled with sorrowful rain. Plain that I am still life's lil enigma.
