I press my mind to come up with words that will make a story, interesting.
All my mind offers these days is porn. And soft at that.
So soft, it almost has feelings.

There are no more tales of wonder or amusement or hands with leather gloves or girls with chests, not so flat.
plain text. no curses even.

Maybe we could be descriptive and speak of the rain and the wetness, and the joke that could possibly go with that.
Or of the pain that comes with the dentist chair.
Of childhood and the diaries that were kept.
Love.
Kisses like eating chicken fingers.
Of little people waiting.

Bullet pointed thoughts that can't be construed as sentences.


And, yet all my mind offers is porn.
So soft, its almost not.

The Wisdom of Whores.