Is It Poetry
Murder and more Murder, Sex, rock'n Roll and Drugs
I can see through your wet panties,
that whores like you wear on purpose.
Boobs full of milk and long fat hard on's.
I can feel you on top sliding high up and down,
I diced up and murdered.
I will not,
its never enough to get my thrills.
Crisco butter, coconut oil with some of the colonel's
Moist red lips, that I close with a smack.
Snorting coke your glazed eyes, smoking weed,
your fast on my trip, power moves.
Eye's that can't open,
that I squeezed shut with my middle finger.
Green metal that glows bright pink, then red,
deep down inside,
I am sawing back and forth with my dull knife.
Murder and Sex and more sex, life with me stops,
committing sow drawn out murder.
Moving she gasps,
bipolar she goes moving to fast she let's off of the gas,
he says let's go.
The future is bleak as it crawls slowly past,
so fast that you missed your last show.
Words that shock, eating my fill, your face is like paste,
Your black bony asses is like glass, I see through.
I learned it all on T. V. growing up and to see,
him beating her up,
while she on top, holds him down.
Murder and sex,
drugs and murder and sex, rock and roll.
Way out in the sticks, n the country, my guns in their rack,
white pick up trucks.
I was to young,
and she was to obviously broken.
Wild both of us knew that nothings free,
neither one of us like some of the rest none were spared.
To die, O so young, to die, O so young,
but like mom and dad, die we did.
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Comments about this poem (Murder and more Murder, Sex, rock'n Roll and Drugs by Is It Poetry )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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