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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Poetry (Cheap Whore)
what I really want to say
is fuck her and her pathetic clicks
poetry has been such a cheap whore to me
spreading only when she’s desperate
spilling her juices on every new hack
I’ve seen all her past lovers
they were sacrificed to the crimson death
how can something so beautiful,
also be so cruel?
maybe I’m spellbound to the end
convincing myself there’s a place for,
the harder side of poetry
when the last balls are cut off
can I please have the pleasure of saying not me?
I want the opportunity to spit my blood in her face
with all my built up resentment
one last fuck for destroying my dark playground
if I could stop faking this smile for a minute
I would give her a quick middle finger
the same one I used to fuck my muse with
back when I was called a monster
but it was poetry that was the real bitch
turned her back to me
might as well I guess
that’s where all roads lead to anyway
desperado, they’ll cheer when I’m dead
I told myself I would have left long ago
but there was one last thing I needed from her
she was always riding too high on her horse
never accepting my hopeful invitation
instead she made excuses to spare my feelings
then got gang fucked by every other poet
but when it was my turn to hit it
she treated me like the sad little friend
if I could say what I really want to say
well, then I would have to start from the beginning
is fuck her and her pathetic clicks
poetry has been such a cheap whore to me
spreading only when she’s desperate
spilling her juices on every new hack
I’ve seen all her past lovers
they were sacrificed to the crimson death
how can something so beautiful,
also be so cruel?
maybe I’m spellbound to the end
convincing myself there’s a place for,
the harder side of poetry
when the last balls are cut off
can I please have the pleasure of saying not me?
I want the opportunity to spit my blood in her face
with all my built up resentment
one last fuck for destroying my dark playground
if I could stop faking this smile for a minute
I would give her a quick middle finger
the same one I used to fuck my muse with
back when I was called a monster
but it was poetry that was the real bitch
turned her back to me
might as well I guess
that’s where all roads lead to anyway
desperado, they’ll cheer when I’m dead
I told myself I would have left long ago
but there was one last thing I needed from her
she was always riding too high on her horse
never accepting my hopeful invitation
instead she made excuses to spare my feelings
then got gang fucked by every other poet
but when it was my turn to hit it
she treated me like the sad little friend
if I could say what I really want to say
well, then I would have to start from the beginning
Published 11th Apr 2019
| Edited 12th Apr 2019
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11th Apr 2019 6:21pm
11th Apr 2019 11:43pm
Once and awhile I write something that I absolutely love, but I know not many people may understand. Me being a conceited writer who loves his own work, well this is just fucking cool to me lol. My anti-poem.
Thanks for the read.
Thanks for the read.
Anonymous
12th Apr 2019 2:53pm
Bloody hell! If that isn't the truth! And what we wouldn't do for that fickle bitch of a muse to return again. Sigh...
12th Apr 2019 3:15pm
I do feel like poetry is an unfaithful mistress at times. A relationship where the feeling is not mutual, and the muse comes when she wants. Kind of a weird poem to write for me; seeing as I'm showing such anger at something that is a hobby lol. Still poetry has ripped my heart out more than a few times.
Thanks for reading, friend.
Thanks for reading, friend.
