Without Expression I Am the Question

Samra comes here often Pretending she wants to buy stuff Or is looking for something What she is really look for though is me She wants to know who iam She wants to know what I do She wants to know where am heading She wants to know where I have been She wants to know why am here She wants to know me I stare at samra for a while Poor little girl Wasting her time on a man who got a woman She knows this she does But she continues to come here Everyday she comes here She comes dressed up Bright shiny clothes Lots of eyeliner and fake hair I know its fake because you see the lining near her forehead She wears too much perfume Samra wants me to notice her I want no trouble so I look away Now she is here With half her breasts out And her tongue wiggling to and fro She is playing with those long eyelashes Flickering them up and down Up and down Up and down For a moment I stutter This girl is asking for trouble And trouble she is going to get Now she is behind my counter Acting all shy like she a piece of silk This devil girl is sick I am going to do her proper I know this is improper But she is making my eyes dropper Once am done am going to leave her like a chopper She wanted to know who I was She wanted to know what I do She wanted to know where am heading She wanted to know where I have been She wanted to know why am here. She wanted to know me. She starts screaming rape Looking at me like I am to blame Now everybody is looking at me with shame Through their eyes I see hatred and aim Claims made with the aim to achieve fame I regret giving into the game The game that has now cost me flames I regret ever looking at something that wasn’t mine How could something happen over such a short line Making me feel like I was on cloud number nine I am acting like I have been drinking a thousand glasses of wine Too damn ashamed of my own self shine But even as you read Question me you will succeeded For a man’s reasoning can only exceed You will say it was my greed That led me to reseed Wasn’t me that took lead? Wasn’t it him that wanted this need? For samra is a woman Everything about her was that of a trueman Poor little girl That bastard really made her swirl Now she is left up to curl Whilst he continues to twirl Poor little girl.