you were a wild child
with a wet sticky ****
you played with it often
on a pillow you'd grunt

then mama betrayed
licentious you
with ruinous morals
don't play with your goo

girls keep their legs crossed
and don't talk to boys
*** is for grown ups
and ***** aren't toys

your hardened your heart
kept your *** in a box
to be a good girl
grew cold like a pox

emergent depression
sadness and cold
you had to say no
though the boys where so bold

soon there was rage
for no reason at all
your hair turned to snakes
cause boys wouldn't call

gorgons are demons
that turn men to stone
from endless denial
here comes the crone

then comes the fetish
she aches to be dead
she poofs out her ***
begs, please take my head