/lit/ - Literature

>>9206127
Dear x, I know this style is a bit outdated, but when i'm thinking about you time slows down so much that it goes into a sort of time-reverse situation and it's like the 1700's. You're like a beautiful rose amongst a garden of weed, i'd pluck for you fear of corrupting thoust, with my posinesthou touche, for am I and can never be more thenst a sinnar incompareison to youse. You are my one and only, the moon shines brightly on your rosey coloured glasses, my rose, you are like a mistical creature, without feature, my felicia, i want u to be mine so much that i broke out-into rhyme, and without time, i scribble my pen and pad, though trak pad and type, i rack my mind, though i know i tried, ill never reach the heights, that your inspiration, creates sensation, without hestitation, manipulation of speculations, got me waiting, on wicked breath, what the fuckkkk he says? i got words for him, and them and all others in the way-ill pretend, i didn't hear that, better clean my earwax, mother fuckers got me so-unlax, i better reverb inta, and metamorphasis of love and bliss as crisp as crisps with dentures from the dentist sit in waiting rooms to see you when your old in bed, i love you, or maybe not idk you that well, u wanna see a movie or some shit?