Kitten Ballad

As heavy smoking wrecks havoc on my lungs, I reminisce on the potential lovers I pissed off and pissed on before I gave them the chance to wrap their pretty pink lips around my somewhat thick drum stick.

For I am God’s gift to women, the man who can do no wrong while spiraling out of control in a whirlwind of chaos and tits.

While I legitimately enjoy the prospect of no holds barred sex with the whores of Instagram, my biggest turn on is a nice and wholesome brunette who cooks me breakfast and loves me. Shocking isn’t it? I am aware.

I’m so bloody young and I’m already yearning for love. Fucking disgraceful. Where did it go wrong? Too much TV.

My biological imperative guides me to ejaculate and evacuate but even if I do that, why can’t I have both worlds?

When will the Lord give me a sexually depraved jezabel with a hint of elegance who will die for me and is mentally ill but also a good partner lacking toxic traits? Yeah, I know. Stupid.

A man can dream. Even if he does not sleep. Ever.

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