young prose

the darker the night;
the better the sleep.
the brighter the day;
the more i shall weep.

a tear jerker of sorts
above or under the shorts.
keeps me so busy,
thinking bout slizzys.

don’t have the time to relinquish my mind
from the sadness and pain my jizz stains leave behind.
true love, tears, indwelling despair,
sometimes it’s better if i yank on my hair.

physical and mental: the pains always there.
and i alone have myself with whom i do share.
should i stop? can i stop? what would be the difference?
maybe a smile and a wink when i handle my business.

but if i stopped i would lose my physical fitness.
for it’s all i do. all day and all night.
as it seems to be a true internal fight
as i beat myself up, quite literally, to no delight