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deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Heartbreak Fcuk
I'm hot
and I'm sweaty.
I swore I wouldn't do this on the first date
but I'm sore, like a cat dehydrating.
I'm expanding, back aching, confusing the lines of right
and wrong.
A succubus, the damnable demon to want and lust for...
where's my fuck is my self re-cocking-spect?
"You left it with your bra, on the floor."
Fuck.
Oh, shit, I shouldn't be doing this
but my breathing's harsh and I'm loving it!
What is this man doing with his possessed tongue?
Did he learn this when he forgot his spoon for the vanilla ice cream?
And you're all going to judge me for it, I don't normally do this...
or perhaps I do but I feel guilty for it, I swear.
There's just something in it.
Just one passionate fuck.
Fuck the love stuff, what the hell use is it anyway?
He fucks you and then he leaves...far less painful than
he fucks you
and loves you
and moves in with you
and sees you when you cry, you never cry,
and he handles your snoring
and he doesn't complain when you want the remote
and he fucked your best friend--
Where was I?
Now my nails are digging into his shoulderblade.
Who gives a shit if I mark him?
I have to leave some mark I was there
but he's slowing and the feeling's leaving me.
The anger's turning back into it's little box in my broken heart as I pull up my frenchies, redo my eyeliner and leave him where he stands
or no longer stands to attention.
I feel full.
I feel satisfied.
I feel hollow.[/font]
and I'm sweaty.
I swore I wouldn't do this on the first date
but I'm sore, like a cat dehydrating.
I'm expanding, back aching, confusing the lines of right
and wrong.
A succubus, the damnable demon to want and lust for...
where's my fuck is my self re-cocking-spect?
"You left it with your bra, on the floor."
Fuck.
Oh, shit, I shouldn't be doing this
but my breathing's harsh and I'm loving it!
What is this man doing with his possessed tongue?
Did he learn this when he forgot his spoon for the vanilla ice cream?
And you're all going to judge me for it, I don't normally do this...
or perhaps I do but I feel guilty for it, I swear.
There's just something in it.
Just one passionate fuck.
Fuck the love stuff, what the hell use is it anyway?
He fucks you and then he leaves...far less painful than
he fucks you
and loves you
and moves in with you
and sees you when you cry, you never cry,
and he handles your snoring
and he doesn't complain when you want the remote
and he fucked your best friend--
Where was I?
Now my nails are digging into his shoulderblade.
Who gives a shit if I mark him?
I have to leave some mark I was there
but he's slowing and the feeling's leaving me.
The anger's turning back into it's little box in my broken heart as I pull up my frenchies, redo my eyeliner and leave him where he stands
or no longer stands to attention.
I feel full.
I feel satisfied.
I feel hollow.[/font]
Published 3rd Feb 2011
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
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comments 12
reads 1382
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
3rd Feb 2011 5:46pm
two-sided very nicely. There often seems to be inner conflict in your poems. I like this a lot. Thanks for the read.
3rd Feb 2011 5:59pm
Thank you, Jolais...The honest ones you will always find that - I'm trying to write erotica in an honest way with the honest thoughts that go through my head. :)
3rd Feb 2011 9:38pm
I FEEL what you write. I love it so much and totally get it...as always. You and I are much alike....if these poems are from personal experience that is.
4th Feb 2011 2:19am
Thank you, Splendid! And no, but I had my first blind date this evening and it was how I felt about it, the nerves, I was just like why would I want anything serious anyway..but I'm glad you felt it.
4th Feb 2011 2:13am
4th Feb 2011 2:20am
4th Feb 2011 3:10am
4th Feb 2011 3:15am
It was a very crude write but that's the apparent outcome of LA nerves. I'm chuffed you liked it. Thank you again, Opheliac!
4th Feb 2011 10:24am
4th Feb 2011 6:34pm
8th Feb 2011 3:56pm
8th Feb 2011 10:33pm
