A partnership of nothing. Revealed idiosyncrasies allowed me to see your true nature. The liar crept. Wore your shoes, and walked within them. Sang your blues. Quilted tears forgot about your fears. Nothingness is what your psyche has been blessed with. It is all your rotted mind can maintain. A fake smile, of the pointy nose type. Dancing within your pathetic guile. Cramps strike frequently. Just enough to numb my mind. Thinking about you kills my cock. The best kind of birth control I have found to date. Your teeth are shattered from the grotesque words it has helped your tongue speak throughout your aged lifetime. Too old to not know any better. Too old to live the life you live. Too young to die within the birth you were given. A narcoleptic confrontation. You were always unconscious during your life; bleeding your uterus to death. Too many deaths to consider. A delinquent type of rebirth. Nestled within your womb. The embryo slits its own wrists. Rejecting your birth canal. Many have traveled within your canal. Always coming in. Never coming out.
Tag: cock
Masochism at its Finest
Menstrual holocaust. Frozen entity. Wanting to be near me. Closed off. Shut down. Cherry picking wants and needs. Blowing me wilted kisses. Crushing the deadliest love straight through me. Squeezing the intellect out of my cock with your hugs. Dead thoughts. Without warning. Taking over the thought mechanisms. Tune down. Dropped life. Disappointment sets in. The same story repeated. A different book. Written in another language. I always read the same story for some reason. An unlearned lesson. It seems to be the only story I know how to read. The only story I know how to live. It is always the same. Contagious. Self-depreciating. Masochism at its finest. Soul bondage. A noose for good luck. It fits perfectly. Just like the rest of the nooses I have collected over the years. Masochism for sport. A daytime religious delusion spurting itself out. Lost within a nighttime stigmata of a retracted soul.
G.G. Kalfas 