Pussed Up

this writing of mine seems to be splashed with inartistic delights.

I have never had a talent.

I have never had a secret.

I am not mysterious.

I am straight-up.

I can not write worth a shit.
Thank you to every professor and teacher
I have ever had for pointing that out.

So, I am going to go on to write,
In my horrendous perspective
Giving all my readers a big 'ole
FUCK YOU
With my middle fingers,
the only two qualified fingers
To write this.




My pussy is wet and there is no dick.
I want no man. no woman inside me.
They all disappoint me more than I disappoint myself.
(And that is saying a lot).

Life is as dry as my infected throat.
And as wide open as my gums.

Mindless banter.
Mistakes.
Pills.
Pot.
I am sputtering out.

..More like pussing out.

Smelly
Infected
Revolting.


A train of poor immunity
Cut me open a while ago.

And now, I depress myself,
In my thwarted throat infection.

Although-
The pain will never be as great as that of a broken heart.