When you
Twisted, Roasted and Burnt
the sourness of the breathe of my life,
Di you wonder if my eyes were quoting you
Or the dirge of a distant land,
Did you not pause to breathe that breath,
Lest I might inhale your sweaty stale
Sweet Breath!
Were you wearing the gloves of a shrunken leather,
That you made off my hairy skin
And its sweaty pubes.
Did you glare deep into my eyes and toes,
Wondering if I was the untouchable
You had for enslaved for granted,
till my sour soul would breathe the last of your charred breath.
You had hammered me to fit into the holes of your cum with none a friction,
So that you could keep yourself warm, wet and nourished always inside me.
Weren't you glad when you rubbed my back,
When I purged with a distinct death moaning under your nose
Did you slap me because I disturbed your sleep purging endless every other minute,
Or just that I stank the staleness of your cum growing inside me?

I could do nothing my Staleheart Lover
But kill that blob of rotten animal cum of yours,
And die myself after this verse,
Cause
I simply could not love that red big clot of the aftermath.