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My dreams are full Of skull-fucking And butt-fucking And ******* all night long. ******* girls I loved And girls I came to hate. They are full of that driving hunger like being tickled By the queen wasp's stinger Until the syringe went to deep And the want became a need And the ******* became A plague, so that I couldn’t dream Of anything else, but sticking my **** into some pink ***** And driving it all the way into Her until I could see it in her eyes, forcing the smell of her reddened, limping ***** out of her ears like a bloated body excreting excess venom. I wake up to a hard-on, fatigued, limping, famished, humiliated. Every night I pull the power cord out of the digital radio beside my bed, the one with the lime-green numerals, and I wrap the cord around my neck until I can hear the muffled hammering of my heartbeat inside my skull.
0
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 9:48 PM UTC
Warning: This poem is not for the feint of heart.
My dreams are full Of skull-fucking And butt-fucking And ******* all night long. ******* girls I loved And girls I came to hate. They are full of that driving hunger like being tickled By the queen wasp's stinger Until the syringe went to deep And the want became a need And the ******* became A plague, so that I couldn’t dream Of anything else, but sticking my **** into some pink ***** And driving it all the way into Her until I could see it in her eyes, forcing the smell of her reddened, limping ***** out of her ears like a bloated body excreting excess venom. I wake up to a hard-on, fatigued, limping, famished, humiliated. Every night I pull the power cord out of the digital radio beside my bed, the one with the lime-green numerals, and I wrap the cord around my neck until I can hear the muffled hammering of my heartbeat inside my skull.
I understand that this poem is graphic. Many won't read past the first few lines.
Waverly
Written by
35/M/American
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 9:48 PM UTC
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