yes, no, maybe so . . .
|A rose, by any name, is still a rose, so in prose, I suppose, there should be no cons, just pros. As it goes, from deep within the souls, wherever the wind blows is where the heart goes. And it grows to be exposed by possible foes. Or just follow your nose. Who knows, you know … fuck them hoes. Dispose of blows and the stepping on toes. Feelings of lows and losing the glows of the clothes . . . blackholes and death-rolls, but who knows . . . through the throws you just might get lucky though.
A rose is a rose, but that gots to go. For whom the bell tolls. But not for me. Not anymores. Nevermore. Quote like The Raven by EA Poe. My name is Carlos Santos, not el Gran Estupido. Is that understandable or comprehendible? It´s simple. But I just don’t know. Everything´s easier said than done sooo . . .
We go and lose control. On and on it goes and goes. When will it stop? Nobody knows. One thing though, that will never grow old, go cold, loose it´s hold, ever get sold, undergo or forego any sort of morph, eventhough you´ll get professors, pros, even hoes that´ll swear up an down that it´s a NO !
But . . . a rose, by ANY name will FOREVER be a rose. Especially to me. Incredible, que no? You fucking hoe. . .