The documentary of a Whore?

She walked up and down the streets,
Dressed in her shiny top and ass-tight denim jeans.
The craft of this extraordinary whore ,
Once, twice, thrice; men and women came back for more.

Unceasingly she offered men their righteous honor,
On her and then to pay her offer.
Thirty six - twenty four - thirty six,
A classic bawd unlike TV chicks.
She looked in the mirror and felt no pain,
No pain; that in this all she has no sensual gain.
But she'd still guise and adorn herself,
Awaiting the arrival of her nocturnal patron of wealth.

High-five basketball playah and his grill,
Rap-shot Nigger and his bling,
White-collared and his Lincoln bill,
Miss harlot has no personal choices,
She just swung her hips and threw her dices,
Threw her prices,
And that night, one lucky bastard got to explore her sensuous sizes.

And time was soon gone before she was done,
There came the arrival of that certain one;
The rise of the sun; her biggest foe,
And now in bright daylight she walks, masking the skin of a whore.

My Hallucination theory

Lonely nights have taken it away,
Nothing to stop you astray.
Have borrowed everything you can see,
A sorrow you can no longer feel.

The darkest shadows of the time’s light
Giving rise to an alternative side.
A rule to the theory,
To fall in a place reality will never let you be,
A demand by the postulate,
Forget the rest and emancipate.

Now, that you’ve pushed it aside
Come in to a place where fears and tears of the other side
Gradually begin to subside.
After the transition with the spin, with the swirl.
Pierced to glimpse a brand new beautiful world.

Less you know the more you see.
Shallowest spaces of the fictional humanity
Be the only rudiments emblazoning this visuality.
The sub-conscience this realm’s stringer,
Allowing you to be anything, to grow farther.
Rule to number: three,
Dare to dream for free.
Color your way, no God to pray,
Burn here and never see it die away.
A freedom to contentedly illusion
Places not been, games not meant for you to win
Here in, you be the game and the unexplored territory.
Making it useless to return to the sick body.

And as all good things;
Must end this.
Curtains are drawn,
Shows over, time to be gone.
Off to the other side; back to being alone.
Exhibit fake cos true self can never be shown.
To know you’ll be back here again …Pushes you to flee with fact to believe;
There are no rules when you’re a part of your own hallucination theory.

The return of my stranger...

The sun is in my eye, but I can’t stop dreaming,

In this moment I’ll always feel patient & young .

And I’m talking to that image I want to see,

Hoping it’ll come soon, so I can touch it, turn priceless and be set free.

A line to right the wrong,

pieces in me closing in strong.

I win and still feel broken, but to lose to you and feel every emotion,

Is better than the holy painting of passion.

Now ages been by, together again we're back in time,

In seventh heaven to know what it is to be wild and to chide;

Together to feel every emotion the world had to define,

Showing people how to live and leave a sign.

You touch me and parade our crazy dimension,

Making me suffer that heavenly sensation .

Old lovers' ghost you once again conjure ,

Careless if He was to like Our rapport or called it impure

Together we'll describe to Him something He never knew.

And change the direction in which the wind blew.

In your eye.. you say it'll be fine,

Even when I'm out of patience, even at the end of time.

Then, hand in hand, we'll run to a brighter corner

and celebrate the return of my beautiful stranger.