the sole existence of hell

when i look into your eyes i can see the thirst and the desire
to be ridiculed and submitted to the superior forces of lust and craziness.
i can feel your calling for the sweet penetration of the soul
as the liquid of the fountain of youth pours into your body and you moan like the bitch you've always wanted to be.

the screams echo through the forests of somber thoughts and hidden wishes
inside that beautiful and disgusting mind of yours that is so eager to be bossed around like a slave without its own free will.
and then the pleasure consumes you and you start to rave
about all of the things you want to do and all of the ways you want to be hurt by me.

your lips have the colour of a freshly picked cherry waiting impatiently to be bitten and ripped off of its still untouched virginity
and like the devote lover i am i fail to resist your charming beauty and succumb to the prison that i created.

your hair is the first thing i wanna take hold off so i can pull it hard and make you scream and moan even more
whilst i finger you with the finger you sucked just moments before.
the thought of it excites me and the fountain inside my blue jeans releases its first son of passion and creation.

oh your eyes.. your eyes are the absolute mirror of the restrained soul you keep with so much pleasure.
they reflect your deepest secrets that i know very well and use to please the ravenous creature that inhabites your body.
oh.. your body.. a playground that doesn't close and a vessel that doesn't require the question to be dominated.
you are my absolute property and you love it don't you?

i look at the mirror and i see your whole figure full of chains and social scars
your ass is standing out and i can see the hole through which my fountain's fruit flows and recreates a massive pool of white obscenity and foulness.
sometimes i can hear you saying "please don't hurt me anymore" but what you mean is no less than "please don't you ever stop making me feel like a helpess animal who depends entirely on your sympathy".
ridiculous whinny piece of shit.

you start crying as i make you suck my cock for the third time on a row after the fountain has done its job but
it doesn't matter if the fountain is dry as long as the instrument of loud noises keeps making music until you go deaf.
why do you keep pretending that you hate me being inside you? you know as well as me that being my bitch and my all time toy is exactly what you asked for when you arrived here with nothing else but skin.
i was immediately drawn to the calling of the gods as venus and vulcan made love and the earth shook.

oh you naughty boy.. swallowing my cum and then moaning "please fuck me again please fuck me again".
and like the devote lover i am i fail to resist your charming beauty and succumb to the prison that i created.
we go on and on for days and nights, the moon and the sun both bear witness to the union of the two greatest perverts the creator thinks is his doing.
poor delusional being.. who would've thought that two men would be sucking each other fucking each other fingering each other kissing each other and the deadliest and grossest of them all.. loving each other.
oh God please forgive me for the sins that i commit with pleasure, i guess i can't resist the warm butthole of this hot little piece of your heaven.. thank God for the believers.

and what would my parents say of all this..
oh may the dirt rest their souls as God is too busy killing lovers.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

the birth of death

and the teardrops keep falling off of my eyes while the sound inside my head keeps yelling and howling and the people around me keep laughing and walking while the stars start to unite for an explosion to happen to utterly destroy me. the day i was born was the day i started dying, the unforeseen disaster was already a certain catastrophe as the skies turned black and grey and nature cried until the ears of the deaf went dull and started bleeding. until this day i do not know why the world was so angry at me, i was still a soul in the making and my doom was already traced by all of the horrors of simply being alive. there i was, helpless and miserable, disgraced and lifeless, ready to be corrupted by all of the things that expected me to fail, i wish i wasn't born at all, i wish i had the chance to choose, i wish i didn't have to kill myself, i wish i could've escaped destiny without a bruise. but all of these wishes are meaningless and ridiculous, there...
Read more

a inutilidade do útil

encontro-me mais uma vez especado a olhar para o vazio enquanto o meu pensamento se revolve à volta do nada que fui construindo. é obsoleta e desinteressante, a vida.. pelo menos é-o para aqueles cujas almas perecem e desvanecem à medida que o mundo se destrói. parece que cada vez mais há algo para nos espezinhar e pisotear até que o sangue dos nossos corpos desista de manter o coração vivo. há sempre um momento em que nos perguntamos "será que não há nada que eu possa fazer?" mas é claro que há: esperar até morrer. às vezes apercebo-me de que sou um dos poucos desgraçados que tem de viver a vida sabendo que não a está a viver de todo. questiono-me sobre o porquê de tal sina até que chego sempre à conclusão que fazer perguntas é ainda mais inútil do que pensar que seria possível algum dia obter respostas. olho em redor e vejo pessoas felizes e ignorantes. ignorantes, mas contentes. creio que sempre é melhor do que ser lúcido mas inexistente. é nos momentos em qu...
Read more

celebração necrófaga

condenado por um passado que não me pertence, continuo a deteriorar-me. tento alcançar o perdão que nunca me foi destinado até que me convenço de que talvez o tenha atingido. fingido. o que separa o meu corpo danificado e vil dos portões da morte não é mais que uma mentira que me foi concedida por mim próprio. um outro eu. o que escolhe iludir-se. tenho a dizer que raras vezes fui feliz. se se pode chamar de felicidade à ignorância... tal como todas as marionetas de Deus cresci para entreter. leia-se sofrer. com o destino de morrer. nada de novo. não sei se me consola mais achar que carrego o peso de um morto por mero acaso ou porque me foi atribuído um papel especial qualquer neste circo. estou cansado e quero ir-me embora. não pertenço aqui. à saída de casa no outro dia encontrei um amigo de infância. não falou para mim. éramos amigos desde os cinco anos de idade e nunca quebrámos contacto. pensei "será que não me viu?" que estupidez. como se eu não tivesse passado precisam...
Read more