click to follow

Saturday, 1 July 2017


Their sultry voices grazed my lobes and I shivered. Voices in pain, masked by the sugar tones of corruption.

They screamed; like a flower getting penetrated, but I listened closer and heard the clumps in their adoration.

I arose from my seduced Oblivion. They screamed in pain! They'd not had food for days, but were forced perform for me by their master.

He wielded the whip I could not see. They smiled and their facade were so strong; they moved faster.

They performed for me under the moonlight and I almost sank into a raging pleasure.

Their voices traced my thighs and plucked my strings. They touched me and made me wet with no censure.

I suddenly broke through the surface of it all. At the very last moment when I'd have been conned.

Clarity calmed my mind like knife through warm butter. I looked closer and saw nothing owned.

I sat back and absorbed them absolutely. The children's brown hair was dyed black to hide malnutrition.

Their stick thin legs and protruded stomachs heaved with their performance and salutation.

Their swollen feet hit the ground in hard taps. I saw the tiredness. The one behind the smiles and gratification.

I saw the way women were relegated and incompetent men directed the flow of the dance. The few chosen women danced perfectly, but with death near.

They pushed me past the brink, oh they were orgasmic in life and it's quite rare.

I saw guns and warlords at the edge of the spheres; barely visible, but quite ominous. They had a time bomb for me to do their wish.

"You must cum!" They whispered. You need to succumb to our leash.

And the compound where they were all forced to sleep. Outside, Hard floors, no food and barely a clothe to keep away the cold. Dense and overpopulated.

The master who wielded the whip. A bent over crook who's partition was opulent and beautiful. Side by side they stood. Overflowing drinks, food and comfort for his one guest.

I sat in the middle of it all and in a flicker it was all gone.

The performance went on and on.

Poverty and Perfection.

No comments:

Post a Comment