"izzy" poems - Hello Poetry

Isela takes it in the mouth. She'd get on her knees, positioning herself half-in, half-out of focus. Just enough for Joe, behind the Cannon, to capture the whole thing. Eric, the producer, was on his hands and knees beside Joe. 'Come on Izzy work it, work the dick.' 'That's right, stroke it, make him sing.' 'I love it, Izzy.' Izzy wanted to bite down. She hated each and every **** she ever saw, but she had a few things to do. Her **** had to be new and renewed on the daily, her ***** had to get wet on command, and her stroke had to be so fast they'd burn the dude as her mouth cooled. After her mouth was littered, and her face was a mess of spinal glitter -- You could make a man come out of his brain, Eric would say. Izzy would get in her car, wiping her arm where'd she'd gone to the clinic to get pricked and tested, and pull a long haul of Virginia Slims down her throat. ' It was always the first sweet thing she tasted. Izzy would pull into the Terrace View apartments, all that long black hair, and wipe all that make-up off, three napkins-worth, so she could kiss her baby. Because Rocco was in for a bid, and not coming home anytime in the forseeable future. Her microbiology degree was somewhere in her closet underneath those pink stillettos and more fishnets than fish. And Izzy knew that with those double d's; *** like a backseat, mouth that could grease a **** and her hands Eric liked to call his own, that she could pay the light bill and maybe put Romeo into a daycare center that wasn't full of roaches and angry ******* "Someday I'll get out, but it's illogical to say with all the money I'm making, and it's just a job when you get down to it, I've ****** a lot of ***** and never gotten paid." Rocco Jr.'s cheeks were always the second sweet thing she tasted. "I know a lot of girls that got defeated by this game."

0

Mar 23, 2012

Mar 23, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC

Waverly

A Lack of Compassion.

Isela takes it in the mouth. She'd get on her knees, positioning herself half-in, half-out of focus. Just enough for Joe, behind the Cannon, to capture the whole thing. Eric, the producer, was on his hands and knees beside Joe. 'Come on Izzy work it, work the dick.' 'That's right, stroke it, make him sing.' 'I love it, Izzy.' Izzy wanted to bite down. She hated each and every **** she ever saw, but she had a few things to do. Her **** had to be new and renewed on the daily, her ***** had to get wet on command, and her stroke had to be so fast they'd burn the dude as her mouth cooled. After her mouth was littered, and her face was a mess of spinal glitter -- You could make a man come out of his brain, Eric would say. Izzy would get in her car, wiping her arm where'd she'd gone to the clinic to get pricked and tested, and pull a long haul of Virginia Slims down her throat. ' It was always the first sweet thing she tasted. Izzy would pull into the Terrace View apartments, all that long black hair, and wipe all that make-up off, three napkins-worth, so she could kiss her baby. Because Rocco was in for a bid, and not coming home anytime in the forseeable future. Her microbiology degree was somewhere in her closet underneath those pink stillettos and more fishnets than fish. And Izzy knew that with those double d's; *** like a backseat, mouth that could grease a **** and her hands Eric liked to call his own, that she could pay the light bill and maybe put Romeo into a daycare center that wasn't full of roaches and angry ******* "Someday I'll get out, but it's illogical to say with all the money I'm making, and it's just a job when you get down to it, I've ****** a lot of ***** and never gotten paid." Rocco Jr.'s cheeks were always the second sweet thing she tasted. "I know a lot of girls that got defeated by this game."