His sick giggle
Was all this his aspirations,
his final inspiration?
Is this his final dream
or just an interesting game of amusement?
This sick game of twisted intervention,
I miss my God.
Perhaps this is my Creator's perverse satisfation.
I am his sex, his foreplay, another whore.
Am I just his climax, his forgotten orgasmn, cum.
His sick giggle.
Evaporating from his Creator's lover's naval,
her face cloth eager to remove my existance.
Stale sperm.
Could all this be fixed and resolved?
I find myself pleading with my mind,
meagre cunt,
pathetic loser.
Crass boys wail on self pity, fool.
Wish'd this was a bad Hollywood dream.
Again, pitty'd fool