you never pretend nor do you deceive,
you offer exactly what one shall receive,
you look so much cheaper than what you are worth,
deliverer of evil in such petite girth.
the reek you emit deified and exalted,
grotesquely explained and wisely consorted:
you have brought your decadence to highest fashion
not a single word uttered, yet a million’s obsession!
enslaved a mere flock of gullible sheep
who have no thought of for whom they should weep...
they squeal for you like the nervous messiah,
they claim that this death is vital fire.
they pray for you once they press you to lips,
let you take hold of them with your slow nips.
not lover’s passion with hips pressed to hips -
a sentence to death in few silent sips...
you never force them, it’s how they arrive:
all of them fresh, sweet, free and alive.
you never touch them, they grab you themselves,
you use them up - then find someone else.
yet to this blind all of them shall remain...
there’s just one side to your plenary fame,
this side be death and they are aware
there is no way out of your deadly lair.
© Copyright 2016 Irene Orton. All rights reserved.