Image for the poem It Lives

It Lives

My sex,
Tortures my poor soul
I'm innocent, I swear
You perfect stranger,
Never stood a chance.

It can smell your skin
Feel your bulge
And free it.

It is a demon, my sex
My plush, my pulse
Check it..
Breath undulates, hips
Stretched, pressed by your palms

Go ahead, it's alright
You want to split me in half.
But I didn't bring you here,
It did.

It won't stop, my sex.
Not until it's done
To you.
Not until it's full,
Of you.  

Written by looloolookie
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