Thursday, January 21, 2016

share your secrets, helen.

helen, helen, you cunt, curse from god, throw
your army

at me

the soft fabric of your waving sleeve
brushing against my brutalized bastardized face.

helen, of perfect tits, my face is covered
with scarlet letters- the whole
alphabet-
and i'm finding myself having to
escape death time and time again. helen?

you do not have to worry about such a thing. are
you bored? you seem to get away with
everything, without
a scratch. how, helen? how, how, helen, how do you do it?

when i think of a perfect pair of tits they are yours. i find myself
and five thousand flying devils sucking at these tits.

bitch the size of god.