Feeders of Flesh: Why don't you introspect yourself?
Don’t cease my body if you can’t cease me.
Why do you feed on me?
The enchanting nights are about to begin…..
The musings are paced within
Like love not lost, and skins do not cry
The voices of lust are rabid in the aura of dry
He came in his mighty throne of pedestals occupied
From gangbanged education and rough deep throating fortune 500 lured
To women's flesh as he sees curves and willingly lusts
To enter the body where hundreds of men have already rendered
For the feel is too thick and sweet
You come and have sex incomplete
For you are just a pawn in natures sight of greet
Come again, as the pedestals seem like a baggage
To gag your periodic women to feel unwanted
You beat me, push me, malign me in slander
Yet come to me when your mistress beats you in witchery, expanding grander
For you are a dubious little hypocrite yet have a small bone between your thighs
Of abusing me for the hundreds of highs
For amidst my treachery, you came perplexed
Hold of my hair and pinned my body on the edge
As deep you go, you are still not worthy of anyone's body whole
Yet I succumb to you to feed you my body with a soul
For the soul's unending and evolving penchant
But with the body, will the soul have any tangent?
Start looking inward rather than peeking into my nakedness
I do not understand the masculine why they hate our kind of feminine
Yet I wonder why they feel the need to violate our kind's sense of selves
Of wishful wishes and burning kisses, they use us as an abated mannequin faces
For your kingdoms have blurred with queens replicating demonic herd
But why do you crave the bodies tortured and tormented by the hungry, ravaged crowd
For women don't feel and men don't kneel, yet we are the ones swallowed in abattoirs grill
For a mistress comes with music, ravages our houses and rises, for her husband entered my aura
For husbands of husbands and men from a mosaic ilk can grunt and tell
Yet sharp as hell, the sounds they yell, there is a rousing fire if at all, why am I a cunning Jackal?
To tombstones unearthed and shadows girthed, the women's women who beat their own down and dusted and lament frustrated.
For the pause and play of haunted dreams in the sun's ray, of child-like bent on musings craved and went,
Of hollow belly, with a heart flexing as sweeter jelly, of unarmed armor wore in a rally
Of knives and sheets with lust and devious feet to crush the other and preserve their wonder
Of a Man lifted to conscious conscience, of having faith covered in his gaze.
He left the dreamy haze, yet you are searching for his ways.
He won't find you ever, for you have caved into him graver,
He is searching for a down-stripping mistress to cover
If a child comes, he prances and jumps,
Of the sweet 16, they seemingly adage, yet they can take him in eyes of the world's eye rays.
As they shot with a grandiose camera,
Of way and imagined Borbora, of holidays sheen and fumes, of sorrows hollow and just ruse
How can someone enter three ways and strain a child's wounds
if at all the child's conscience did not grow, are you not the one to know
For not everything depends on lust; no one's sorrow calls for a bust
In the heaviest of crust, my inner demons lay bare then and there, craving for lust
For I know, I am in an abyss, for you are still, in a way, happy and lovingly in a nocturnal oasis
Of sweet signs and wonder, and hell so fine and darker
Do not turn yourself in, in this grand sorrow bin
A bin that judges by shapeshifters' hollow pin
Dark, Filthy drains were replenished with new water.
Sorrows can unmatch, leave you haunted in life's game of mismatch
Of caressing wonders and deeply humming tunes
For I heard only shrieks and rapid rude gooey floozie nocturnal goose
As dumb as the duck sounds, it's never rabid and shocked like me with a draining bruise
For my childhood uncanny, born and brought up by criminals, shiny
Yet am I the victim and a perpetrator, bold and whiny
For the small girls that sell their bodies in camera and enjoy the lusters of abuse,
Are they willingly doing the act which is phony?
For self-respect is bodily integrity, assuaging rapidity, and life's graffiti, why would you want to indulge in shattering cruelty?
We are damaged goods, yet I do what I like, to feel more alike and non-judgemental indifferent to dislike
Men want more, yet you give them different kinds of yore, of chivalry gone gazing in devil's adore
Let them see your rugged hardness; try protecting your shyness,
For a demon, it's shamefully ashamed, yet ashamed to be shameful.
The triggers often come and go, yet sisters crave and bow, for it's not the one that gets the beating, is just a cycle of sorrow repeating.
You are beaten, I am threatened to do things to unleash our inner demon,
Yet we are sublime, and our hearts glide in our heartline
For one who is bad deserves to change, a chance is given, but the bad behavior will lay unforgotten
Come you, shiny peaky adorable prude, as you are the sun and I am the downtrodden cat. You are stars while I fly like a bat
Of tortures and tremors you caused to me, I am the same woman who sells my lust to you
Sitting estranged and being demonic to you and your heart, taking the beating and being served with spicy curd
For I change for you to help you achieve your dreams, yet you sell me in your aspirational screams
Of selling yourself to short chicks and hunky dory busty gals
If at all you regret doing, I see my armor, not withholding.
For forever you go and ravage another being's life, I will follow you to your end and plight.
Stay away from me and get out of my sorrow sight.
Thanks a lot for taking some precious time out of your schedule to read my work. If you like it, you can read some of the other poems I have linked below. I hope you have a great day! Thanks for stopping by!!!
He follows me…. here, there, and everywhere.
Looking for the faceless, ageless, and lifeless version of me
