Writes..."Reckless...One 12-Syllable Line At A Time"

“i tell her i love her but she’s not feeling me…

and by not feeling me, i mean literally,
no part of her is touching me physically…
‘cause tonight she isn’t where she should really be…
and her breasts and ass aren’t where they should really be;
one in my grasp, while the other’s concealing me…
i find no hands on my body revealing the…
parts of myself that i’d expose appealingly…
truth is the distance between us is killing me;
“us” being our “sextin’” parts what’s i really mean…
i can’t think anymore, the strain is killing me,
i’m so hard, i’d piss only to be spilling pee…
my dick’s a pole: steel but curved like the “phillies p”;
and my testicles: as blue as a “phillies p”…
so i say fuck the hand that life is dealing me…
no girl, no kids; a fucked-up hand’s reality…
in life i’m forced to fuck my hand unwillingly…
and risk the chance of future children spilling free…
i just shot the next black prez at the ceiling, see…
‘cause i have to do that since she’s not feeling me…”