And I Do Too

by bluepervina - © 2008

I don't need this.

In case it's not clear enough, let me restate, rephrase, reparse, regurgitate:
this fucking sucks and I hate it and there's no way I can take it,
not for a single second longer goddammit.

It?
What is it, you say?
Are you, perhaps, already speculating, ruminating, masturbating over ...
it?

Well then.

Let it be whatever it needs to be.
For you.

Whatever you need.
Let it get you where you need to go.
For better or worse, of course.
I can't, after all, control how you take what I give.
What you do with what I dump.
What you reap from what I sow.

I'm just telling you this,
that I don't need it.
It was this at the start, in case you missed it -
and for those of you still not thoroughly pronoun confuzulled,
that only means slightly more than nothing in the context of this rant.
To me, at least.

To you, who knows?
Do with it what you will.
So say I again.
Spin your silk, go ahead.
Sweeten these bitter waters with the mighty thickness
and rough woodsy goodness of your hefty, humpable stick.
Do it like the prophets.
Have a hearty, holy, helluva fuck.
For me, baby.
Yeah.

But I'm only trying to vent.
To spew.
To radiate the overheated essence of my ire,
which is to say I'm well beyond mere tolerance,
and I missed that off ramp to patience a long time ago.
Meanwhile I stew.
Simmering.
Sputtering.
Spluttering.
Spun down, then round, then out, the extruded spewage of my churning mind,
my gutted nuts,
my fat ass on fire for yet again one reason...
and as ever there's everything
flung out.

Flying apart.
Falling as art.

Farts from the heart.

I don't need it.

With a whip it cracks back into play.
Just when you'd forgotten.
Or maybe you'd just gotten four seconds beyond my thises, itses, and shit...
caught on that strange phrasing (gutted nuts? what the fuck?)
and deciding maybe, finally, there's really nothing here to see.
Nothing left to know.
It's all nonsense and for your time and trouble there's not even tits.

But dude.
Titties rock.
Puffy, suckable, swelling, melonous, moundiful, milkable, mommyful,
more more more mouthfuls.
Yeah.
Here's your tits.
How could you even for one single splitsy think I'd leave them out?

It's not my job, though, to see to that,
is it?
Crawling inside, creeping, sneaking, slipping in, sliding through...
insinuating myself into your head...
to pick your brain...
to take your great shining pervy poster children and parade them all out in the open
for only the richest pissers to wish on.
Dishy sisters to piss on?
Hippy dipshits to spit on?

Nah.
Fuck that.

Really, not for me.
My thang ain't about yours.

Your cock soft now?
Cunt dripped dry?
Eyes crossed?
Rezipped fly?
Lost the love for one more chance at the dream,
to see the thing that's your thang all hung up and gleaming?
Because I bucked it, shrugged and stammered and choked on it?
It's in a puke-pile somewhere for sure,
but that's biodegradable grade-a someday,
so don't forget.

It'll be written again.
Sooner or later.
Again.

Quickly shatters the glassiest ass.
After all.
Swiftly splatters the sloppiest slutholes.
After cocks, rocking, and balls.

And the glossiest gusset will still darken and dampen.
Again and again nonetheless.
There's none escaping that.
What the prophets called our sin.
Ever and onward,
countless times it will win.
Despite what we run from.
Despite what we fight.
Despite what we say that we hate.
We still bite.

It's how we are.
It's not like
we can help it.

It's in us.
On us.
Around us.
All about us.

It will never leave.
Yet it never can stay.

And you wonder why I'm manic.
Why I'm frantic.
Why I'm deranged.

Because it sucks.

Because it rocks.

Because it rules every cock and cunt.

Because it ruins every cunt and cock.

Because it runs my life,
fucks my wife,
makes me tight,
then goddammit goes and gets me high.
Relentlessly stealing my time, spending, splurging, purging,
until I'm empty, broke, busted, bowed down and four-points floundering.
Under and done.
No more wondering how, waiting for why, or wasting time on who, when, or where.
It's just over.

Then it's back.

And I don't need this.

Do you?

Of course.

And I do too.

Your feedback is welcomed!

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