I am the shameful virgin
who sits and spins a flirting web,
that has an alluring scent.
"I am ready for love,
not marriage or kids"
reads my personal in Heart Sick Weekly.
Let me break your heart over and over again,
so we can make up over the phone.
I will use my hands,
(All eight)
to bring you untried pleasure
with inexperianced fingers trickling down your back.
Who are you to say my breast are too small?
They will later suckle the children I don't want,
those of whom you fathered.
You want me to fill them with plastic
shopping bags for your enjoyment.
I will not weigh myself down
to live up to your expectations.
Nor will I be the untried virgin
whose flower you picked.
I will take away the pleasure as though it never existed
and sit back,
watching your withdrawls,
your body shaking,
my body shaking,
shaking with glee.
"I can take as well as give,"
I crow,
"Go to the whore down the street
and never come back to me."
I force your head to the window,
crushing your nose against the glass.
"Go to the bitch accross the street,
or to the stripper next door,
but don't come back to me."
I see your red rose blood tumbling down your face,
and I hope you heart is also bleeding,
breaking apart with raggard edges.
I see your face cracking and contorting,
and I giggle at the scene.
"I can take as well as give,
go home and rape your mother,
because you'll never get more from me."
And down comes the knife,
aimed at your heart,
with my hand attached
in the killing blow,
"Go home to your mother"
I scream and shout,
"because you'll never get more from me."
Cutting off your fingers,
gouging out your eyes,
"Go home to your mother,"
I wisper,
"because I can take as well as give."
Birth sign: Pisces
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