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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Phlacid
Jesus Christ,
The leader of the mice.
He wears a crown of thorns
Underneath his horns.
Blasphemous?
Yes. Yet tinted with hate,
With a shade of wisdom.
I am the climax of your orgasm,
I am the tick in your muscle spasm.
I am the heroin in your bloodstream,
Now go on, cum on her face, scream.
I am the wound on your arms,
I am the pain with no harm.
I am the blood on the hair,
I am the anger in the glare.
Don’t you dare trust her.
She’s a witch, a hag.
Now go on, fag. It’s your
Turn. Burn with the rest,
Let your hero molest you.
The leader of the mice.
He wears a crown of thorns
Underneath his horns.
Blasphemous?
Yes. Yet tinted with hate,
With a shade of wisdom.
I am the climax of your orgasm,
I am the tick in your muscle spasm.
I am the heroin in your bloodstream,
Now go on, cum on her face, scream.
I am the wound on your arms,
I am the pain with no harm.
I am the blood on the hair,
I am the anger in the glare.
Don’t you dare trust her.
She’s a witch, a hag.
Now go on, fag. It’s your
Turn. Burn with the rest,
Let your hero molest you.
Published 16th Sep 2011
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16th Sep 2011 2:45am
