Holy my cum, yummy yum yum,
Just like the gods want.
Creamy and green, glimmering thing,
Only if a miss could spare a cunt.
Most of the days it's watermelony,
No sperm fit to swim or fret.
Anyway these are lazy bengali sperms,
Alive only when you flush the toilet.
Porn has lost its childhood charm,
In fact the entire platform of cunts.
Just a double slit experiment,
My dick no longer wants.
So it's down to fingering the asshole,
And praying to god's pubic cone.
Visualizing how gods fuck, helps,
Naked in hell fire and brimstone.
Grinning gay gods gaping games,
A favorite of a hindoo fanatic like me.
I always inspected behind the idols,
And fingered their asshole to see.
Woody the woodpecker had a chequered past,
A shriveled profile to boot.
But the nipples are hyper-sensitive,
They are black as soot.
The asshole was once pink and pollyannaish,
Now only brown, puckered and morose.
It's more about futility, farts and shits,
Than figuratives of penetrative prose.
Now I orgasm when I shit, something holy about it,
I hear the gods fart in unison.
Less likely I have approval from mortals,
Who'd deem it as a sex con.
When I was sixteen I could cum sixteen,
And that too in a day.
Now once a month, then it'll be a year,
I'll be dead this coming may.
Soon one day the sperm will,
March out one at a time in piss.
I'll teach local kids how to count,
Based on just this.
Thus will end my suffering,
From the cycle of eat and shit.
One day I'll turn into a turd,
And well, that's it.
