A Poem: Satisfied

Sometimes,
Asking someone to be
Satisfied is like asking them
To stop scratching an itch.

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When the itch has disappeared. And you have.
N’t got a clue. Could it be?
The abilify. Has deleted all your testosterone. To where viagra wouldn’t even do. And your love life may be memories. Of women who have left. And you can’t seem to get over the memories. Even if you asked. Yes, my brother, this happened to me too. I wondered wondered what to do. Now I’m doing replacement therapy. Hoping that it does the trick. For women are like butterflies. Always set to be free. Can not keep them in a jar. When there are more to be found. So don’t give up the game of life. For we are all hell bound.