Final Toska

Warning: Obscenity and adult phrases ahead. And, the idea is also not comprehensible for kids, you can try if you want, at your own risk as the world around you is might well filled with a balance of all!, 

And,  I smiled at my own nakedness.

pouring down my thighs,

With the semen ,

I stood stark nude.

Unbounded of the brassieres

and support of the panties,

It was a plain freedom.

But, I.

I felt the air quench horror down.

The tingling of the copulation

and,its sweaty remnants glued the dirty soil,

onto my tender body,

while crouched further into the ground.

It was very dark.

And,Two limelights.

I could see me in one.

Bare.

Shaved

And dripping.

And, in the other,

A he,

was not there.

Two dozen men stood

infront of me.

All those acquaintainces it seenmed like

The new age resultant of a dozen

photoshopped faces reflecting the crimson of 

the familiar intimacies and the swallowed pubic hair.

It seemed as if.

Well, I could recognise all of them.

I had slept with each, once upon.

The beautiful sex, the sneering bastard,

theneouroticawewome one, the pro-marriage one,

the sweet one, the afraid one, the older one,

the browny,

the passionately wild and genuine one,

The drugged one,

 The fat fuck

 And the BDSM guy.

All in front of me.

While I was nubile,

begging in clasped hands,

a tear of joy.

Of thankfulness.

Of a heavy thankfulness.

For having worshipped my innards

my ejaculations,stinky vagina

facades and escapades.

For the li'lest that time they did.

But, then.

Yes.

Ya, I was grateful,

I was simply grateful

for having been objectified.

For having been indebted to those zillion

dissolved and

disposed tissues in their garbage bins

that was blotched with my vaginal smear, semen and mucous.

Time never felt necessary

aromatic forgetfulness.

For love had,

taught me co-existence.

And only,

co-existence.

Which, would come to use only if I'm shipwrecked, alone.

I stood up.

Yes, I stood UP ON MY LEGS.

My breasts panted off

the last bit of sweat,

The wind was pleasant,

but strong.

I couldn't feel the cold.

my fingers Icy cold I wrapped against the warm elbows,

and nails,

gushing with an ablaze of bloodiest red of

A life so dead white.

And, the sweat had disappeared.

The semen too.

I was droughted, clean.

I was done.

A heavy tornado of misandry

came buy,

and I jumped in.

And howled with the wind.

Loud, clear.

And, red.

And, howled the world to howl with me.

For the celestial lesions up above,

to buy my rage.

Because the effervescent stake was

too holy a scent

for my scanty dermis.

I Howled,

through my rusted lance

and swamped hips,

too dry.

To Spike my cramps

and howl into my knee-caps a full blow of pure kush for the empty cavities.

Entrap the last ounce of warmth

of a paranoid agony.

And howl the misandry.

Around. And around.

And around.

Around.

Till it comes back,

around n round n round.

N round.

Misandry, my toska.

My final toska.