♍ Virgo

They say it's easy to reach beyond the clouds of doubt, but they know only sorrow.
The Gettysburg burial ; a common wealth, welded in black ink , and hand Drawn infamously with a detailed linear algorithm.
Who cares about outsiders, when Virgo season is like pico de Gallo inside, they'll make you have orgasms around your mouth.
Some say we're toxic, but you love what I am doing.
It's getting high.
Coming near.
Passing fast.
Going hard or Google chrome, because you might find something; someone insulting for being just plain beautiful more than you.
You may do a private search for me even if you are not into me, but what you haven't yet seen in me you wouldn't know was true, you believed in us, and you can't beat them. All on you because you are too ashamed about what keeps you around just to keep you down and declined but despite all your fighting delivers you into a spiral of deletion, like something you once loved to be but lost of the passion and, the power to run after anymore.
When you're surfing the world wide web for a mister perfect body.
More than you can take a glimpse; sneak peek.
More than likely than you realize your momma and daddy has a wondering eye, a bitterness, and a heavy heart to find someone truly celestial.
A cheriphim.
A seraphim.
Even more than you can bench press , or taser a vanilla ice heart of wooden tissue to make a sound every time you give them an urge to vibrate within your rocker arms.
You always talk down to us.
Who do you think we are?
We're just a Virgo.
With an appetite to serve.
In an exponential process we want anything, and anyone.
Another thing; another one; another reason to spread our wings and take to the sapphire sky.
Our flames are blue and unholy.
Burning abounds the lowly with green envy.
We're just looking for some way to paint over our self esteem with a big ego.
Couldn't catapult us over the great wall fast enough, so we take matter into our own souls.
Into our own minds.
Into our own hands.
Into our own space to withdraw from the neraphims their not supposed to be mixology with our souls.
We are intoxicated on our extreme.
We are the sacred ones that can only be delivered in a dream.
What goes viral in this time as a one man team.
It's not likely that our competitors can turn us to cream.
This is not a creamery unless you want us to be decked in Hagen daz for the winter I will never transform unless I want to.
We're high and low and everything better between.
An impossible whopper with cheese and avocado dip with all the trimmings because we don't usually eat beef we grill it first.
We're so sweet we'll rot the teeth out of your mouth.
You don't love us anymore when you see us.
We don't do anything really well, but look really hot.
It'll kill the fantasy of making kids by us, you might want to break our bones, and throw them away into the soil, but when you realize what you have done you'll be suicidal.
We're just fabulous and perfect by nature.
Born to reign.
Passive but something, like a realist if you ever want to download that line.
You'll be in the line of fire, just simmering down to the tenderous state.
It's a shame to see why we don't exist for everyone.
We are the undefined because we have many forms.
We're allowed to leave bitterness in your mouth, because you outsiders are out of season think you're over us, but you only have your self to deceive you can not force on us failure to this exam in every quarterly year.
Ain't nothing going to change my mind.

Authorship by Mr Dashaun Rashod Snipes
©Mr. Dashaun Rashod Snipes

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