What the fuck am I even talking about anymore, just words, coming out of my mouth, just vomit, just cum, all over your phone screen,

Does it even make sense, does it translate?

I don't know,

Behind it all, is grand scheme for evolution,

Its also just a horny dude, word porn for the moon,

In the end what is it for, I don't know,

Does it have a purpose, is it a driving motivation,

Or at 3 am, when you read this poem,

Do you see blood, does the devil come out,

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Who knows,

Its sort of like a record of my life,

Little marks of what I did that day,

Little pieces, small experiences,

Maybe it’s a success,

It produced a poem, maybe it was fulfilling,

Maybe these poems are filling,

That void in your soul, do these poems hold them close,

Whisper its going to be okay, you'll be fed today,

I hope its something,

If I fall to hell, and I realize it was all meaningless,

And the most to come of this, was embarrassment,

I would have nothing to say,

I’d probably cry to my father,

And the void would cry back, I don’t exist, I was lying, I didn’t go out for milk,

Haha, whatever,

There’s worse things than to be a poor poet,

Who knows, I could even make it,

Or I’ll be back, working with computers,

Wizards in their tower, making reality function,

I could end up as a convenience store clerk, I do love transactions,

Maybe it makes the world a little better,

Or maybe its just a confession,

A mark, an etching, of the truth,

Does the vampire come into your room,

He’s cumming on your phone screen as we speak,

Oh no, he’s drained, he’s weak,

Quick, stab him in the heart, feel the pulse of his blood,

Yum, that was tasty,

I’ll see you again next week,

Peace out homies, I’m going to the Phillipines.