.
      My lute doth sound
With music soft and sad this pitchy night,—
      A plodding ground
Largo e sostenuto play'd by a wight
Long dead, and living yet to his despite.

      He gins to sing.
His voice is strange, and ghostly is the tone.
      The song, a thing
Witless and wordless, compos'd is of a groan,
And a long, drawn-out, agonizing moan.

      About his *****,
The plaintive melody painful is to hear.
      The song recalls
A time long-past—a very distant year—
When they were clipp'd to please a sadist's ear.

      A throbbing pain
Resonates, sounds in every sombre note;
      And like a rain
Of wept droplets from a sad fountain, mote
Forever be the weirdness in his throat.  

O.O

It's any fool can shrink a head:
The art is making it also undead.

O.O

You'll live your life from grief to grief:
   Rarely you'll be relieved.
But, fear not, your strife will be but brief
    Till you yourself are grieved.

O.O

Since I would rather take
    A chainsaw to the gut
Than have my heart to break,
    Instead, Love, bust my nut.

O.O

Not through your ******, your ear, or your nose,—
Your sphincter's the place where your sphincter ring goes!

O.O

A single drop of “acid rain”
Will drive you mad, then fry your brain!
The trip will take away your breath:
Just do one drop, and trip to death!

O.O

Let me to kiss your chewy lips,
Draw drops of blood with little nips,
And **** them up in little sips.

Your teeth, as white as yellow snow,
Crooked and spare, do seem to show
Like rocks of rosin in a row.

Your forkèd tongue did lately taste
A cockroach fat; now, should you haste
To **** my breath like solid waste.

To me there is no greater bliss
That heaven could hostage than your kiss.
Come, kiss me before I take a ****.  

O.O