A serenade of mines thought I spit in a love art form, hoping that your listening for I know the attention of many you’ve got.
I’ll not tare down the walls you so well contracted out to your so called besties who speak on your behalf.
That lingering walk that has you floating with every stride, I dare not mention.
There’s something in contention and that’s what I call my feelings for this beu that’s got me healing deep down in mine wounded soul.
Mates have come and gone, all speak of the fate that loves got to offer!
Though behind my back this fibster’s are begging you to be the queen who dawns a crown to their throne.
This clowns are but in your DM commenting on every last status update, GIFing like they just memes.
Never was I taught to love and opening up was a sign of weakness, all that was mentioned to me was that we got to enjoy whoever is down for the weekends.
Anticipating the week ends to create memories that we last just at our weak end.
The notion running wild out there is what differs from the true nature of this here piece.
In all black I put pen to paper just to have once again my mind at peace.
I’ll not describe you for your mirror does it well than I’ll ever do, but again it speaks not of the character that you solely poses.
Oozing in fine over flowing with a glowing personality, with Einstein like brains and a runway models beach body.
Sir. George Githunguri
© Jul 2018