Lucky for you i am a schooled power sea engineer,
lots of certificates coming with experience and such,
my trained eyes and hands can polish your sphere,
you’ll never even notice when i push in your clutch.
Scarred skin and lost bones wrap my brittle skeleton,
my expectations are none for a very good reason to be
what ever they are envisioned as just the opposite will happen,
no anything or responsible actions just more of my broken poetry.
I’m less than fine most of the conscious time like you wouldn’t believe,
my internal silence is shrieking without making a sound or a noise,
i want to yearn to speak with you within a poetic rhyming sleeve,
far away as you can imagine from being one of the boys.
Your insides are all i can be infatuated otherwise with fear,
the inner-self is what can be seen in our dark broken mirror,
normal is nothing neither fun nor nice in my empty interior,
it only works for me when we depart you are jonzing for more.
I abhor skin-on-skin contact and never had a massage,
real pleasure is still way far off in the outer-aether,
sensationless and senseless at the same time,
two quantifiably out of controlling neither nude or nother.