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Gypsy Bard Dec 2014
C'mon! Spank me like the naughty little girl I am!
**** ME! **** ME! Stop being a man!

See this? Right here? My tight little hole?
Put it right there, baby! Homosexuality makes you whole!

Put this on your tongue, this seed of pomegranate.
Have a little fun! Let loose your granite!

Ice shavings and ice cream, my sweet little angel,
Come closer, come closer, let me study your angels,

Put your **** in my mouth. I'll **** you off.
*** in my mouth, and let yourself loft.

I'm not one for chains and whips,
But I'm more than up for shafts and tips!

*******; sliding in; so sweet;
Pound me harder with your big, strong meat.

The good'ol in-out in-out ~ The rhythm of life.
The dullness of cream ~ the glint of a knife.

Petrifying pangs of pleasure; cross a prostate ~ pouring,
Sweetly like ~honey~suckle~ Alluring

Breathe, my darling, like music, like a breeze.
Like the blood in my ears; like the wind in the trees.

In the closet, we are allowed but seven minutes.
But that is not enough! By the time its up, I won't be finished.

So for now, my darling, put your lips on my cheek.
And allow me one, little, innocent peak.
So this is what happens when I'm ***** and I write.
Gypsy Bard Nov 2014
To hang by barbed wire,
Or to be tossed in a fire,
The sultry little liar,
Upon the licks of a pyre,
And the situation is dire,
When plucked on a lyre,
cos' *** u ahm fulutterbutt,
Gypsy Bard Oct 2014
A murky green,
Given unto a scene,
Like knights in blue satin,
Garbed in old fashion,
Cherry ***
In turgid rations
Variant ‘Hey’
In things of gay,
Like golden sun rays,
Gypsy Bard Oct 2014
This place is
Full of terrib-
le poetry and
people who t
hink they can

I hate this pla-
ce and all of it's
love and hate a-
nd death poetry
written by kids
with no idea ab
out life in gener
Gypsy Bard Oct 2014
You know, poetry gets old after a while of reading.
Because ******* thats why.
Gypsy Bard Oct 2014
Memories of
Broken things and
Past dreams of
Soap and seams,

And all of it seems
To teem with
A neutral shade of

As I sat and
Plucked and preened
Someone, somewhere,
Started to sing,

With the most
Wonderful voice
Almost as if they
Hadn’t a choice…
Gypsy Bard Oct 2014
and Pickles from the jar,
and tiny little cars,
lined up against a hospital, far.
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