The secrets women keep
Are dark and hidden deep
Like razor filled, saw toothed vaginas
They hurt you if you go too deep.

The lies that women wear
Are pretentious and make you stare
Like saline filled, oversized breasts
They offer no comfort or care.

I had an affair
With my grief
She's a dank cold mistress
With an STD

she fucked me over
And left me drained
Covered in sores
And flowing with puss

She shaved my manhood
Sliced open my seed
Planted her own pathos
And watched me bleed

Does that make me fucked
A hopeless shitcake
A rotting pile
Of castrated sorrow

Yes
I quite think it does
But what of it
You tourist of dung

I paid this bitch
To do this to me
My hourly wage dominatrix
I pick from the page

Go get your joys
Wallowing elsewhere please
I'm full up
With my own disease.

Listening to REM on the radio
takes you back to what should've been
full of hopes and dreams
and could've beens
as Michael sings
you remember
what you'll never have

A life, so full of promise
your life, now devoured
you beg for crumbs of frienship
and are fed gormet morsels
from willing saints
but they're never enough
are they
to fill the void
your life has become