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.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 9:48 PM UTC
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.
