‘Beautiful People Do the Ugliest Things'

Her thighs are withered before their time Tired. Quivering with pain they grasp around That pole. That erect stick that without the need Of force does beat me and my sister to the ground. Beneath the façade of equality we lay and bleed from our heads And not from our hearts. My dumb heart would shield me from The violence but I’d rather not. And there she hangs like a bat, polyester drips from her roots but does Not drop to the floor because she has used her heart too and some glue. And while she feeds from my blood and my pulse starts to slow. She, would argue using her head, continues the show And never lets that stick go soft. She, the nazi bitch will eat the key And throw it back up For she wants us to see Those withered thighs Not blinking an eye While the rest of us die.