Psychotic Love Poetry


But It Feels So Good…

You want what I have,
And I get why you want,
Lazy and stoned,
You sit around,
You sit around,
And sit around producing nothing,
I’m busy,
And active,
And friendly,
I’m nice!
Do you want to benefit from
My generosity, my kindness,
Why wouldn’t you?
I have so much, and need much less,
Have video, have television,
Have this fucking dick in your goddamn ass,
Violating your squishy guts, while I try
To pierce your navel from the inside,
You think I’ll let you steal from me?
You don’t know who you’re living with, baby,
From this point forward, when you sit down,
Every time, my man, you get to think of me, and wince.
That’s how I’m gonna leave you,
Homeless and tore up,
Wishing your asshole didn’t flap when you fart,
But it does.
I did that to you.

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My penis ain’t the meanest,
But my dick is plenty mean,
It is a tool of discipline,
To tame your quivering seam,
You act like it’s a monstrous thing:
Veiny, red, and huge,
But I know the truth ’bout my ding,
And huge just isn’t true,
It’s neat, though, look!
It flops about, like it’s a gasping fish,
But you’re the fish. Heh.
I’m supposed to call it pussy.

Or any sort of broth, for that matter.

I told you that I love you, Baby,
A dozen times or more,
I mean, not everyone receives the gift of my seed,
I usually collect it in a little bag,
Tie the end off, and slip it into my pocket
So I can take it home,
That’s how I know you won’t make it into tea.

Sweets for the Sweet

I’m sitting by the telephone,
I wait for you to call,
I’m wondering if you saw me
When we both were at the mall,
I followed you from Benetton,
To the food court Auntie Anne’s,
I hid behind a Cinnabon,
I want to touch your hair,
I peeked around the kiosk,
But you were nearly there,
As you approached: I crouched,
I slid, around that kiosk’s corner,
And when I’d done all that I did,
I sprinted for new cover,
I watched you eat your snack and drink,
My zipper visibly straining,
And as you licked frosting from your lips,
My balls? They started draining.

Time’s-a-wastin’

I want to attack your poon-box,
With gentle, delicate touches,
I’d like to dust off your labial folds,
With these soft and tenebrous brushes,
I’d consider laying beside you,
If your bed was ensconced in fine cheeses,
And you were sufficiently relaxed ’round me,
To let out your posterior breezes;
I’d trap them in a paper bag,
And huff them at my leisure,
Till then, you’ll sadly stay unfiddled,
And free from sexual pleasure.

Now that we’ve finally met,
I have so much I want to say,
Don’t you want to learn about me?
What would you like to know?
Now that you mention it,
Today my poop was black,
With a yellowish under-hue.

A story about a date we went on.

There was a man,
A man’s man,
And I was that man.

There was a lady,
A man’s lady,
And you were that lady,
But I was not that man.

There was a party,
A fancy party,
And you were at that party,
That man was there too,
But you didn’t see me,
Because fancy parties happen in big houses,
And big houses have lots of places to hide.

There was a bar,
An open bar,
And I drank,
And you drank,
But you tipped the bartender,
And I drank for free.

Alcohol is a diuretic,
A diuretic makes you pee,
And you went to pee,
But I was waiting there,
Pounding off behind the shower curtain,
Listening to your sexy waterfall.

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