Soul - Personal Journalist.
this is...
this is for...
you can...
you can call me..
Erik, silversoul or your own personal journalist
so if you're in search for a murderous & versatile verbalist
or a jerk that is courteous, a fleeing smirk that's impervious
aimed at a hurt that resurfaces and occurs every third minute
who struggles with curbing this turbulence & deterring his nervouseness
& the surges of worthlessness that's lurking and circle his
head and worm down his shirt to where his socks & dirty converses sit
I've heard you can't purchase bliss at least that how I've learned to interpret it
cus I've never heard of it, and never been irked or unnerved by it
but hate was alert and reversed the shit I observed and perverted it
I was an introverted and purposeless nerd who deserved this shit
I started writing verses to murs's shit and put my own versions versus his
it helped nursing the purple bits of flesh that emerged when I hurt a bit
an otherworldly girl existed that reversed the hurt and nervousness
I was turned by her quirkiness, her green eyes exerted this perfectness
blended with sturdy and curvy hips, brown hair and perfectly purdy lips
I immersed my girl in superlatives, absurdly every verb would fit from
observing her perky tits I'd wanna do dirty and pervy shit
when it occurred all my words were missed, face drained of blood
tried subverting my nervous twitch, my speech was blurred and dispersed amidst
the surplus of persons observing us I urgently searched for it
cus I couldn't tell her I loved her when my speech was slurred but I worded it
my feeling were also spurred by it's drive & unearthly assertiveness
my works on preserving it's authenticity were unperturbed by it
even when I was on the verge of deserting it, my brain worked to discourage it
thought I was cursed to be curved by it but my heart hadn't the nerve to concur with it
a too perfect lil bird for this murky old earth she is
with an urge to go further which meant I had to let her fly
she met a turd who wore skirts & this led to hurtful words & shit
what I've learned from this journey is that I would've rather said goodbye
it serves as both curse & gift to remember when hers were merging with
my nervous virgin lips still I smirk but I'm hurt by it
I still urgently thirst for it but this world is just merciless
words are superfluous for how I felt when she curled up & purred a bit
in my lap searching for purpose in her eyes murdered my nervousness
no further emergencies emerged with my girl it was perfect bliss.
I know it looks fucked.
but all the words passed the margain.
peace sign.
life is still a bitch....
but sometimes to unwind she lets me feel her tits.
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