Satan's Vagina Monologue

satans vagina monolouge.jpg

For these past few weeks I have been going hard tackling some deep emotional issues, but this week I am going to lighten things... slightly. I have been know to write a bit of poetry. Today I am featuring two peices. Both are about the same person, but vastly different. Our relationship was in sharp contrast the entire time and these two poems capture it perfectly. We start with one of the good times.

Puma Party

Strutting into the room my pussy cums, with lust in her eye.

The ambient light allows my eyes and hands to surf her curves.

Coming to rest on the supple throbbing lily she hid beneath her lace.

At the moment of impact her eyes. Roll. Back. Arched. Eyebrows. Shudder.

I taste honey...

With no more than my essence I control her and make her mind submit a request a remedy of release... no.

Her bloom begins to close around my fingers and she begs... hesitation, hesitation, hesitation.

Approved... she shudders with a violent wail crushing my digits.

She pauses and pulls away slowing regaining her balance.

Strutting out of the room my pussy goes with lust streaming down her thighs.

And we move onto the bad times.

Satan's Vagina Monolouge

Looking you in the eye is like looking into Satan’s vagina

You are the lonely girl of the unknown you are the pre-menopausal post-menstrual drip, drip, drip, dripping down the walls of this gin soaked sin smeared walls and hallways you’d chase me down with a knife if you thought your baggage would fit, how sweet of you to feed me a smile of cow shit and beetles of sand spitting terror from your misery glands.

Looking you in the eye is like looking into Satan’s vagina

Looking into the uterus and the womb of wounds, into the ponds of moments you’ve chocked full and chocked empty of pleasure and pain choked me to the floor and now I’m up with three nails in my coffin and the lamp and the door sadistic, logistic transcripts of your sour patch hart.

Looking you in the eye is like looking into Satan’s vagina

And you are your spawn and six zombie wives and a dead mother can’t be wrong so I’m not wrongfully sawing meat from bones and flesh from face I’m in no place to accept such a grim fate and time has gone not your body alone the fireflies hide the rotten corpses of the souls of mistress the carped diems and helm of the fallen whole.

These poems are both true of a relationship that, even now, I regard as a good one. The people we let into our lives and hearts have a way of making us fall into dark places, and bringing us back just as easily. Opening up is always a risk, but it's worth it.

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