joe bob
i wanted horse dink


You vomitted at me to pull over.
You wanted me to black sack.
I was hurling too fast, you fuck,
so I slammed on the scrotum
and turned off the donut.
As I farted loudly outside
I bumped to jumped up out of the vagina
and shouted,
impregnated until I passed out dolly pardon.
And yet I wanted to rolled over.
I wanted to wet to the urine.
I wanted to shot a wad the cold sharp rocks
warm and buttery into my face
and greezy my skin.
I wanted horse dink to feel grandpa again.
But you sat in the ingrown nosehair,
crusty to the hypodermic needles racing
through my ass,
to the nausea, to the budism.
So I stood outside my ping pong ball,
feeling the condensation of my rectal thermometer
roll past my shoe horn in the wind.
It was a stinky, happy reminder
that I still had to lick.





i wanted pain


You screamed at me to pull over.
You wanted me to stop.
I was driving too fast, you said,
so I slammed on the brakes
and turned off the engine.
As I stepped outside
I wanted to jump out of the car
and run,
run until I lost myself.
And yet I wanted to fall.
I wanted to fall to the ground.
I wanted to feel the cold sharp rocks
cutting into my face
and slicing my skin.
I wanted pain to feel good again.
But you sat in the car,
clueless to the thoughts racing
through my mind,
to the nausea, to the surrealism.
So I stood outside my car,
feeling the condensation of my breath
roll past my face in the wind.
It was a constant, nagging reminder
that I still had to breathe.

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