I hope if you read this you're over 18...
I've written a poem you may find obscene.
I'm going to be ***** and graphic a while...
Some readers will shudder, yet others will smile
'cause this poem is nasty, off-color and vile.
This is one of my uncensored full-frontal verses
full of expletives, swear words, gratuitous curses
where I'm *****-mouthed, explicit, filthy, blue, crude...
so don't be offended.
I've warned you...
It's lewd.
You might want to stop if you're not in the mood.
At least I'm not sitting in front of you ****.
You can't  see the pierced parts or what is tattooed.
This is strict ADULTS ONLY.
It's all about ***.
It's poetic *******.
****.
Triple X.
Enough with the foreplay... Here goes... Wish me luck:
Boobie. ****. Winkie. *****. ****. Phooey!
If that isn't bad enough, let me be blunt;
Dinky and ******* and backside and cootchie!
C'est tout.   C'est fini.
That' pretty much it...

If you weren't amused why should I give a hoot?

This poem is not inspired by you.
This is not dedicated to you.
This poem is not about you.
I have not been thinking of you.

A dusty solitary moth darting through his darkest night
  Finds himself attracted, helpless, to the candlelight.
He's lured to the burning flame.
He resents it all the same
And whips his wings to extinguish it in a futile fiery game.
He gets so close he starts to burn.
My name is Moth.
I never learn.

I would like to have a transparent head..
I would rather possess a cellophane brain
  Then you could easily read my mind
   As my thoughts go down the drain.
I believed I had a shatter-proof heart:
Tempered, layered, and double-thick.
The glass fell out when the frame came apart.
Love impacts like a fast-pitch brick.

Here we are on the bleak edge of town
Where even despondency feels disappointing,
Where the lowest go to get let down
In the manic-depressive cafe.
Each of us sips from a broken dream
Brimful of emptied expectation.
We take it cold.
...with curdled cream.
We drink it hopeless grey;
Grey as the cloud looming over tomorrow
Sour as all of us come here today
Nibbling last night's helping of sorrow
And picking at yesterday's pain.
Window seats never admit any sun...
We stare at constantly overcast lives
And sitting around us it seems everyone
Has eyes that are going to rain.
There are desperately anguished storms in each face
Building to breaking point soon to burst
Our emotional levees and flood this place
When we lose our grip on sane.