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deepundergroundpoetry.com

My lovely sick poem.

There is no romance here,
This is a hostage negotiation;
My gun is pressed against you, and
It isn’t fucking happy to see you.

You better do exactly as I say
I don’t care about your name
I just care about my physicality;
Better get to work like
It’s fucking judgement day.

Am I frustrated?
Hell, I’ve been high since in-utero
Bonging that umbilical cord like no tomorrow –
Choking me till my membrane grew into indigo

So don’t tell me to act like a human.
But there’s nothing unnatural about being bare
So let me strip your skin off and
See if anything’s fun there, I’ll play with your
Fucking entrails if you don’t get down to business
Just coz’ I’m cute doesn’t mean I’m not a sadist.

Oh, now we’re getting somewhere
I much prefer you dressed in a thick layer of sweat and fear
That the fucking sad excuse for clothes
That you chose to wear-
Readers, now don’t you think that was a metaphor!
That really is blood dripping down
And forming a pool on the shitty wooden floor.
But now at least I haven’t got to pop down
To boots for some overpriced lubricant;
Looks like I made my own.
Written by Donchonorgo (Louis Lee Warner)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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