Whorish Hole

WHORISH HOLE

I make the rounds

of a whore who is 

more or less doomed 

to feel less the more

I do it, sometimes I 

pause in an unforeseen 

calm, I don't care 

anymore what I am. 

It's drama I farm out,

making gold out of 

straw by dragging it 

on and on despite the

hair of the groin, a

guy on his stomach.

I garnish the void, 

I gangbang the moon, 

I grieve for my sad

career, as I fuck

without mercy, but

burn with goodwill,

like a snail on an

enema purge, my 

job is crude but my

aura is clear.