jesus christ, not another love poem.
not another sad miserable prick
with no spit left in his bones
pouring out false emotion.
another dead rose stinking up my nostrils
crying about the one who got away.
shoot me now god, please.
take me away from all this shit
pretending to be the next great thing.
you all sound the same.
you all cry the same.
you all go through pain the same.
you one-dimensional untalented schmucks.
get mad. insult someone.
get politically incorrect.
avoid your comfort zone.
dylan went through seven different phases
how many have you had?
fuck love poems.
slap her tits. spit in her mouth.
grab her neck. bite that ass.
naw, fuck that, terrorize that ass.
and by god, go down on her.
squeeze all the juice from her body.
don’t write her a love poem.
don’t be a little bitch.
there’s blood running through her veins.