My mom worked hard to make sure I wanted for nothing that anything I needed I had. And thy didn’t make me spoiled that made me want to be able to provide that for her in return so I’m going to do that. I’m working hard I will repay her for everything one step at a time
I uh miss you. Or us.
I hope you’re at the bottom of my ciroc bottle.
I see you hiding in the tobacco of my cigarette.
I look for you in my dreams.
I see you in my nightmares.
Which is all I seem to have.
I cry for you when i’m alone
That seems to be often.
I miss the pleasure you gave me at 3am
I lust for the laughter we shared at 1pm
I’d kill for the years we spent together to repeat.
I’d sell my soul for your presence.
You think I don’t care but I care more than a god who’d give up his son.
I care more than you’ll ever imagine.
You’ll read this and wonder If this is poetry.
It’s me at the end of a bottle of Bacardi.
Wondering why when you left I stopped working hard enough to buy ciroc.
Wondering where my motivation went.
Where my muse went.
Can you bring me some ciroc so I can find you once again. Please