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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Use Me
https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/VWmLpZNmUrXZHhix5
She wore the scent of her
pussy rubbed raw and wet
as perfume
because she wanted me to taste her
when she walked in the room
heart hammered humming bird fast
ticking like a clock on speed
I want her
All these poets crying in their fucking tissues with this need bullshit have it wrong
want
want is the shitstorm
want is the emotion that makes a man
shove his hand into a blender
to make sure it’s the right kind of damaged
Right now
I want her
hair in my balled fist
slam in hard
punch her cervix
so she can feel me words deep
while I demand she scream my name
I can tell from
her words
she wants
to lick the passion
from my throat
feel my weight on her
in her
scream obscenities
paint sweat spattered Jackson Pollacks
on the sheets
to the tune of a jackhammer
she wants my rage
my hardness
calloused hands
coarse words
there’s no room to be
human
no room to whisper
love sonnets and
romance novels
the only thing that really gets her off
is the caricature of man
that she draws with the wetness of her
depravity
encourages it
controls it
a thick cock
pulsing for her
a night of molotov-orgasms
until all that’s left is
a smoking crater
in the middle of the bed
and we’re both
burned to the core
She wore the scent of her
pussy rubbed raw and wet
as perfume
because she wanted me to taste her
when she walked in the room
heart hammered humming bird fast
ticking like a clock on speed
I want her
All these poets crying in their fucking tissues with this need bullshit have it wrong
want
want is the shitstorm
want is the emotion that makes a man
shove his hand into a blender
to make sure it’s the right kind of damaged
Right now
I want her
hair in my balled fist
slam in hard
punch her cervix
so she can feel me words deep
while I demand she scream my name
I can tell from
her words
she wants
to lick the passion
from my throat
feel my weight on her
in her
scream obscenities
paint sweat spattered Jackson Pollacks
on the sheets
to the tune of a jackhammer
she wants my rage
my hardness
calloused hands
coarse words
there’s no room to be
human
no room to whisper
love sonnets and
romance novels
the only thing that really gets her off
is the caricature of man
that she draws with the wetness of her
depravity
encourages it
controls it
a thick cock
pulsing for her
a night of molotov-orgasms
until all that’s left is
a smoking crater
in the middle of the bed
and we’re both
burned to the core
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