Affection Seeker

You start to run before they’ve even thrown the bone,
And resignedly kneel when they bring out the stick,
Your claws and fangs are neatly filed and trimmed,
Your shiny coat well combed over your aching skin.
Well aren’t you the perfect household pet?
Your conscience is darkened by many a dirty deed
But the slightest caress can clean up this mess
And for as little as a hug
You’d even confess
To a necrophilic pedophilic rape.
No need to conclude your masquerades
By taking a bow on their creaky stage
Why even if you wanted to
I wouldn’t assert
That you could ever stoop any lower.
I’d take a good look at your face
Wipe off that smile they made you wear
Maybe figure out your skull’s real structure
But sadly I’m all out of paint thinner.
I’d call you a whore
But whores only sell their own bodies,
While you could trade your mother’s spleen
For bits and crumbs to fill your need
For paper mâché love and care.
Your twisted blackened tongue reeks
Of the fermented shit
Of all the asses you’ve licked,
Laced with the fetor of the lies
They’ve shoved down your throat.
Don’t bother with the Listerine,
I think the stench seeped inches deep
And took care of what little was left
Of your poor, vacillating consciousness.
Oh even those cold iron bars
At the door of your cushioned white cell
Won’t hide the width of their smile
As they count their blessings
For having you as their bitch.
But you know what?
I’m pretty sure that
Their little pat on your back
Has made it all worth it.