deepundergroundpoetry.com
Fucking like the damned
I want you to fuck me like you’re going to hell.
I don’t want the sophistication
of some complicated,
beautiful pain.
I want it
sick,
raw,
brutal,
you’re-gonna-kill-a-bitch
with your hands,
and your cock,
and your need.
I want to be fucked so wrong
that I can’t piss without wincing
for three days,
and the rugburn on my chin
matches the bruises on my forearms.
I want to rape your morals,
ride your demons,
come screaming
against the ethical dilemma
I’m rubbing in your face
like a tongue-hungry clit,
and bare-knuckles force you
to take me down
hard.
I’ll meet you at the door
with a right hook that
knocks you back two steps,
your hands out, trying to warm
me with words
when I just want to feel
your inferno
(after so long)
trapped between my thighs.
I’ll throw words and blows,
baby,
goad you,
hunt you,
are you man enough
to take me
(fucking are you)
like I’m a rabid predator,
hell-bent on infecting you
with my fatal fury.
It’s going to feel good when you pin me against the wall,
take me to the ground .
It’s going to feel so fucking good to unleash
when I fight back with meaning,
with fervor, with skill,
because you’re going to have to
fuck
me
up
to fuck me tonight.
You’re going to have to give in,
and slide into the primordial place
where right and wrong
and fantasy can take a shit
off a cliff,
and the only resolution
is for you to slam into me
while your skin curls
like ribbons under my nails.
I want to make you drag me half-naked
across the carpet by my hair,
and backhand me
when I narrowly miss
breaking your balls on my knee.
I want to hate you as you ride me,
as I try to throw you off the carnival ride
eyes open,
furious at the sopping slaps
of your body owning mine;
and when I’m riding you
it’s with the threat of death
as I pull your hands from my
tits and wrap those long fingers
around my throat.
I want to be fucked like you’re going to hell,
beyond the damned and insane
with nothing left to lose,
and only
my body
to prove it.
I don’t want the sophistication
of some complicated,
beautiful pain.
I want it
sick,
raw,
brutal,
you’re-gonna-kill-a-bitch
with your hands,
and your cock,
and your need.
I want to be fucked so wrong
that I can’t piss without wincing
for three days,
and the rugburn on my chin
matches the bruises on my forearms.
I want to rape your morals,
ride your demons,
come screaming
against the ethical dilemma
I’m rubbing in your face
like a tongue-hungry clit,
and bare-knuckles force you
to take me down
hard.
I’ll meet you at the door
with a right hook that
knocks you back two steps,
your hands out, trying to warm
me with words
when I just want to feel
your inferno
(after so long)
trapped between my thighs.
I’ll throw words and blows,
baby,
goad you,
hunt you,
are you man enough
to take me
(fucking are you)
like I’m a rabid predator,
hell-bent on infecting you
with my fatal fury.
It’s going to feel good when you pin me against the wall,
take me to the ground .
It’s going to feel so fucking good to unleash
when I fight back with meaning,
with fervor, with skill,
because you’re going to have to
fuck
me
up
to fuck me tonight.
You’re going to have to give in,
and slide into the primordial place
where right and wrong
and fantasy can take a shit
off a cliff,
and the only resolution
is for you to slam into me
while your skin curls
like ribbons under my nails.
I want to make you drag me half-naked
across the carpet by my hair,
and backhand me
when I narrowly miss
breaking your balls on my knee.
I want to hate you as you ride me,
as I try to throw you off the carnival ride
eyes open,
furious at the sopping slaps
of your body owning mine;
and when I’m riding you
it’s with the threat of death
as I pull your hands from my
tits and wrap those long fingers
around my throat.
I want to be fucked like you’re going to hell,
beyond the damned and insane
with nothing left to lose,
and only
my body
to prove it.
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