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Just a lonsome single roaming Rosebud, looking for an friend in an open female hole I can throw all my bottled up love into until she overflows. My stores, my vast oceans of love, just sitting idly by as I reject swathes of whores. It has been building for so many years like the tower of babel, large and strong and will bring disaster if not attended to. Oh my weary heart, heavy from dodging cretinous whores attempting to steal my love for themselves. The only infinite resource on this earth, love, anyone can produce and for some reason so many still want to steal it. A shield brings itself to height, hiding my soul from the toxic air surrounding dishonest woman and other such heathens. I live on a mountain of unsent letters, written in a feverish dream that I have too frequently, the dream of someone beside me. O-heavens forbid I fall for the lies of a usurper. I, a simple rosebud want nothing more than to find someone worthy and in need of my love, for I have so much to give if only there was a fresh hole to fill up, an empty cup to overflow, perhaps even a pair of supple lips to keep warm against my own. There are so many nerve endings to connect and feel and brush against eachother. I long for the simplest of pleasures, to share my happiness with someone I love. What in this world can I not have other than this? Is this mortal realm so devoid of optimism that such a basic desire has now become a trek into the unforgiving depths? The light at the end of the tunnel keeps changing from green to red, I do not want to break the law but I fear I must run that light. I am not a complicated rosebud, I do not wish to associate with these complicated worlds of treachery and deceit. If only a clean and simple girl could spawn within my field of approach, I could finally devote myself to making someone smile without the lingering doubt that they don't wish to reciprocate. I'll take anything, in my naivete and hopefulness I succumb to anything that gives me hope, be it finely shaped clouds in the sky or letters scrapped off the city graffiti. Is it truly so difficult to sort the rocks from the beans? The wheat from the chaff? Sadness, dark days for now and the coming weeks yet again as I sit alone with such a massive stockpile of affection that I can't be sure would be put to good use if I wasn't so selective. I'll fall for anything seemingly pure, but I can't commit until they reciprocate. It pains me so that I am hurt in the way that makes me unable to indulge in blind faith past the opening act. I am worn, bruised, battered, yet I remain optimistic that some nice girl can see past the scars and appreciate the tender fruits of my love. Lets say you may know of any takers for my offer? Be there any pure hearted romantics left?
