Friday, 18 May 2012

Around I Go Again

I rubbed one out
over you this morning
I still dont know why.

Another wad of tissue
to dispose of fading memories of perfection.

Butchered unemotionally
this white scrunched rose
made from shaved pulped trees
home to cul de sacs
of woodland creatures,
pressed into soft andrex.
Now home to my fallen many through this flaccid penis.

Opened slow wincing
scrunched eyes blinker,
studying the restoring daylight
as those stored 
interactive images of you

I don't know how much sperm
Ive wasted on you.
It still doesnt stop the pain in my heart.

These popeye forearm
toning  tight fisted wanks
are always fulled by anger 
rather than the lust,
we once had.

The truth is,
you were never this good at wanking.

My tribute to you.

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