Umbilical
04-26-2008, 12:21 AM
Any spelling mistakes/mistakes in general/f-ups are probably unintentional, but whether they're a product of conscious or unconscious processes, I'm not messing with them. Thanks. :)
ALSO, this poem is rather vulgar... so viewer discretion is advised.
-----
the ritual against degeneration,
is the converse cleansing polarizing force
of
sticking him up like a rack of meet, backwards, watching his member fall
as you're a member of his CULT and you know you'll come with him,
whether down or up depending upon which turn the world his spinning.
And doctor said that it's a crime,
to want your husband to choke on his lines and riddles and lies,
perpetration patterns, perceiving sadistic phantoms
that chuck you to chuck-up, chucky in a bottle of red wine
inebriated sex fiend.
the death penalty was abolished but he abrogated the constitution,
and now your wife wants you to be hanged,
because she knows she gets gotten has hotter.
and knows that a 'powerful erection' occurs when your body becomes limp
when it releases of its neurosis and orgastic impotence
and cries hail mary, to become a virgin again,
only to give birth to christ in your stale mother-manifest pussy
the part that you prayed for to be dismembered with the click of a malfunction
circumspect circum-script machine,
that would harden all areas of your personality, and all facets of your pick.
you're a prick!
it's funny how you wait your whole life for death to fit neatly inside of the hole.
it's funny how this hole inside of you means that you bend to the right,
when you're thinking left and you're a left-wing supremacist
funny how you're so soft and cuddly,
but when the rope is too long,
you swing like a kid afraid of being dropped in the air,
'cause the ground will open and receive you like the anti-christ,
and you're afraid of christening yourself with water from the inside-out
most parts of your liver and other count-HER-parts factory delivered
mechanisms, make her shiver...
when the rope is too long and your head is in the clouds,
the bottom half of your love moves up
to a hierarchy above, where your despotic commands become masochistic television
visions.
for the lad, the love,
who's left to
suck
on her
MSN breast!
---
Jodi
ALSO, this poem is rather vulgar... so viewer discretion is advised.
-----
the ritual against degeneration,
is the converse cleansing polarizing force
of
sticking him up like a rack of meet, backwards, watching his member fall
as you're a member of his CULT and you know you'll come with him,
whether down or up depending upon which turn the world his spinning.
And doctor said that it's a crime,
to want your husband to choke on his lines and riddles and lies,
perpetration patterns, perceiving sadistic phantoms
that chuck you to chuck-up, chucky in a bottle of red wine
inebriated sex fiend.
the death penalty was abolished but he abrogated the constitution,
and now your wife wants you to be hanged,
because she knows she gets gotten has hotter.
and knows that a 'powerful erection' occurs when your body becomes limp
when it releases of its neurosis and orgastic impotence
and cries hail mary, to become a virgin again,
only to give birth to christ in your stale mother-manifest pussy
the part that you prayed for to be dismembered with the click of a malfunction
circumspect circum-script machine,
that would harden all areas of your personality, and all facets of your pick.
you're a prick!
it's funny how you wait your whole life for death to fit neatly inside of the hole.
it's funny how this hole inside of you means that you bend to the right,
when you're thinking left and you're a left-wing supremacist
funny how you're so soft and cuddly,
but when the rope is too long,
you swing like a kid afraid of being dropped in the air,
'cause the ground will open and receive you like the anti-christ,
and you're afraid of christening yourself with water from the inside-out
most parts of your liver and other count-HER-parts factory delivered
mechanisms, make her shiver...
when the rope is too long and your head is in the clouds,
the bottom half of your love moves up
to a hierarchy above, where your despotic commands become masochistic television
visions.
for the lad, the love,
who's left to
suck
on her
MSN breast!
---
Jodi