Clit

1
On that note I go to write, 
My subconscious needs respite, 
I tried it once, but email spite, 
Caused it to be lost. 

But I'm not challenged, 
Spaz or pissed, 
For where it came from, 
My gonzo fist, 
Caused it still there to be, 
In that darkened corner of me. 

So here I am, 
The rhyming whore, 
Fkkkg about, 
like I did b4,
Smoking, poking, 
making rhyme, 
Thrusting into you, 
All the time. 

We're on the cliff, 
The cusp, the ledge, 
Of breaking through,
Our noble pledge, 
If I can commit, 
To the expectant page, 
The wisdom, anger of an age, 
To finally become a sage, 
Then I can wander on. 

It's finding the world's clit, 
That's the fundamental shit, 
Which helps us find a wage, 
Preoccupation of this age, 
If only we could money, 
Out of being artistically funny, 
We'd be able to pay the rent. 

It's just realisation, 
That I'm lost without a nation, 
Surrounded by depravation,
And no news from @iamCarLx 
He promised me some exposure, 
From his South African enclosure, 
Did I become a whore? 
So desperate like before, 
When they snuggled to adore? 
If only I was #BabyJesus™