…who the walls, crawling through my mind
each kiss a graffiti, of mortal sins masturbating
but listens, but walls, without mouth or tongue,
ghosting whores pulling me deeper into insanity
with a lullaby for my gothic ink, bleeding my soul
with plastered tattoos while eating a Baby Ruth
but listens, but walls, without mouth or tongue,
just echo chambers of twisted poetry with Christ
panties and rosary beads wrapped tight in whiplash
lust, and a hunger that never dies but listens, but
walls, without mouth or tongue, smothering me in
holy thighs…
Rated for ADULT(18+)
Plastered Ink
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Summary:
This scribbling, in no way suggest that my sperm has hung an albatross around my berries.
Copyright @ All rights reserved








An awesome poem with breath taking imagery!
Thank you, Elke.
Highly original, bloody deviant, thirst-inducing prose! xx
Thank you very much.