I curse the day that I was born, or rather when I fell, from love's embrace, to pure distaste. Or was it always this way? Desperation for affection a life long infection, in the meat of my old mind, the door to an end, that's not the happy-ever-after sort, but an end is an end in the end? I could tell you about, how I wanted to shout, when my mom would tell me how worthless, I was for not dating, the girls she had picked, though I'm sure she wouldn't see it that way. She was just trying to help, her poor dumb whelp, who couldln't get laid for all trying. Never mind finding love, it's more of the glove, that holds and caresses, cause sex is the bestest, of ways to measure your worth.
At least, that's what I got out of, whatever it was she was trying to say. I just know how they acted, their intentions never clear, from my end it felt, like welt after welt, of a beating that lasted forever. If you're no good inside, and the outside won't do, what's the point of remodling, no? so much effort and work, into reshaping dirt, and for what, so I could walk away? Not on their watch, and not with their money, so straighten up boy, and find you a honey, some girl to impregnate, before we're 6ft under.
At least, that's what I got out of it all