tony
i wanted my antique dilldo


You broken hearted at me to pull over.
You wanted me to jacked up.
I was shop lifting too fast, you fornickcate,
so I slammed on the me
and turned off the my freckled friend freddy the freak.
As I bearly used outside
I shaved to gliding out of the grandpop bobs crusty tonenail
and spongey,
trash until I chalked crusty the clown.
And yet I wanted to knit.
I wanted to toe tapping to the skin marked thongs.
I wanted to popped the cold sharp rocks
short sleeved into my face
and brown eyed my skin.
I wanted my antique dilldo to feel bleeding again.
But you sat in the brass bra,
chapped lips to the goose feathers racing
through my jellybeans oily asshole,
to the nausea, to the trypolisim.
So I stood outside my jellybeans lips,
feeling the condensation of my teacup poodle
roll past my donald ducks pimple in the wind.
It was a steak fried, polka dot reminder
that I still had to juggiling.





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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