Tearing That Ass Up Sideways

Woman calls up
Says service me
I’m a filling station
That fills for free
And I’m tired Of these petty power plays
But that don’t stop me
From tearing that ass up sideways

She say “Jermaine, I need that meat rod”
She says it helps her see God
When did my cock become the substitute
For a Sunday there in church
Fucking this basic ho
Shouldn’t feel like work, I know
But she’s always on the go
Looking for a bit of cock insider her
And I oblige her
And she talks about her feelings and I lose my faith in everything
And get suckered into purchasing a wedding ring
Rinse and repeat
Feeling incomplete
It’s the same old nonsense every day
Until I’m on the scene
Lube in hand
Tearing that ass up sideways

Some nights I stare deep into the void, and see no trace of God or meaning. It is Empty, without order. Cold and vast. I am small. My sorrow is pitiful, tiny. These molecules which make me up can cluster together or dissolve back into nothingness. There is no difference. I resent being born. My sentience sickens me. To be self aware is a cosmic joke. Like a drop of rain that screams “I am” before it falls and splatters into the great puddle. A breeding ground for mosquitos. Nothing more. No higher function. No purpose. Day after day after day until you die.

Other nights I tear that ass up sideways