tagNon-Erotic PoetryPay Attention

Pay Attention


He wasn't Sade. He was free. He didn't write or ponder his misdeeds. He watched politics and war, pretended to care. Sent letters that tickled the nuts of his acquaintances. The lashes came after the doors were closed. Couldn't get a group together to save his life. He wanted to see and play. Fuck it, I'll stick my dick in the doormat; her braided colors made him think that there was more than one. It only lasts three minutes tops anyway. Slobber over what he was planning next. I wiped so much spit from my back and breasts. That's your fault for saying his name! I said wait, I swear. Please, stop, and no were ignored when it got too much with all the time the teeth and the destruction of what biologically made me woman. Don't do this in front of him, please. It is nice now not to have sore everything and finally be able to walk again. But the loss. God, the loss. There, finally something about you. Sade, in text, at least killed his victims. Cured. That path was never for me. Cured, mother fucker. I should have kicked out those teeth.

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