Though Pan sprays hybrid seed
coated in the filth of many priors,
the stench in his hide of shit, cum,
sick and yet just a hint of cunt, he
still dresses like a boy and courts
black battered hookers. Keep his wallet
in the loose skin between his animal and man.
Despite the top half, he still snacks on paper
during fuck.
1 Pages:1
Please Rate This Submission:
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- Recent
Comments - Add a
Comment - Send
Feedback Send private anonymous feedback to the author (click here to post a public comment instead).
There are no recent comments - Click here to add a comment to this poem