Best Poem of wallace eaton

Lost Manhood
Without reasoning I find myself selling my soul to the hands of these criminal restrained prison cages. Probably from my years as a fatherless youth I often develop these rages. Street life, money chasing habits can become extremely outrages. Nine millimeter glots lead to 12 gauges. Old heads use to say, I'm just going through stages. He'll . . .
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Desired Love 2of 2
Was she wrong to expect more from a mate that's her soul, to comfort her like a pillow of well manufactured feathers, the moistness from he's lips cover her hot spot just above the outer layer of her ear, closing her eyes in thought appreciating love. But reality paints the best picture, a casting photograph stuck in a nightmare of horror . . .
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