The oldest profession is the key to my freedom.

The final fight,
Will be dirty.
I suspect i’ll sell my soul,
To reach my goal.
I don’t have strength,
Or weapons of destruction.
My body,
I will sell it, to you, the evil black hole of despair,
Whilst i am under construction, i no longer care.
It is a vessel of means.
The oldest profession known to man,
Will be the reason that i can.
I’ll sell my soul,
To reach my goal.
I’ll cover it in white, light,
To protect it through the night.
I’ll use it as currency,
An exchange of sorts,
To free up my time,
I’ll do this crime.

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Welcome to my blog! Here you will find different forms of creative writing, lots of swearing, erotic poetry, random thoughts, beautiful imagery, but most of all you will find a version of truth. My truth, this is the way that I see the world. However, all of my work is a form of creative writing, a combination of truth and fiction. I write to express my creativity, not my needs!

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