I don’t want to write lines of frustration, biting into prideful intoxication

I don’t want to write lines of frustration, biting into prideful intoxication; Small Pox, but it’s spread through cognitive copulation. Showed up to the orgy and started spitting straight into yours from the mouth of the wooden snake. I’ve got a dream and a body, you decide if it’s fake, you don’t get to choose which one you get to take. I’m no stone Buddha, just dead leaves in a rake, read my poem just itching to get another take, baked in a hot car on the edge of town, it. Became a thrall just to save my stakes, you’d rather discharge any sticks for nothing but saving face. Congratulations. You are a perfect work in progress. It’s a feeling, and if you don’t feel it yet then you’re honestly late. Listen. I’m all pretention and no game, but I know I’ve got your attention, so ready up your monocles, this is a self dissection. Put down your weapons, this is an ego injection. And it’s for your own good.

EasyNegative, (blush, beard, lipstick, worst quality, low quality:1.4, badhandv4), multiple views, blurry, multiple panels, (signature, artist name, watermark)