i'm no masochist
please don't stand by my bed
wielding that sharp knife
you sadistic spirit of hellish torment!
don't threaten me
o please
put the gun away
don't split my legs apart
and aim at my gory womb
with the bullets of your indignation!
o please!
torrential downpour drown Him out!
i tried to baptise Him
but He wanted to rape my perceived virginity
into oblivions of torture.
the gentle sweep of His hand
as He made me feast from the toilet bowl
that twisted beaming of pride
pride, proud, the proudest daddy
how i spat the arithmetic
the equation to make Him stop
as my mouth swells with the flavour
of His defecation.
i'm no masochist
please don't hurt me-
my eyes are wide and innocent-
but He did.
in every way He assaults my cerebellum.
still i see His face in the dark clubs of Toronto
sweeping the nations like a tsunami
He holds my head under bath water
and asks if i enjoy the taste.
i lubricate and i hate it.
o how i hate his sadism
enough
to swallow not spit.
- ©️ Mars Saturnia
YOU ARE READING
He
Thơ cawhat did He do to you? He- [a collection of classical and sexual poems about Him] © 2024 Mars Saturnia [Lowercase and capitalisation of "He/Him/His intended]
