"Dont You want to smoke?"

With poem accompaniment:
[Extra: drunk poetry at the (Pea)cock]

"No, I don't"

They make tiny sweaters
Bent
And I tore you
You knew no more
Than what I told you
Scorn
Touch me
Touching you, a weapon
A weapon
A weapon
Drives into your flesh
A testament to His
What can you stand?
Longish
Leaning
Filling
Screaming
Be in me
Your big dick inside me, longing
For, the hurt
It tore me
A new one
Undone
And the scorn
It is won
Now that you've done
All the boring things
That touch me inside you
Like a demon deep inside the flames
Look into me
See me
The insides
I lurch over the side
Aside from you
To teach me
Squeeze inside me
Like the lot
Past due
I accrue
The weapons
The weapons
They accrue
Like the useless slurs and interludes
Of qualudes
Hitting the spot
Undaunted
I need you now
The big of you
Filling me up
With bullets
From inside you
Screwed

Dudes
They don't know
What hit you
Unless it's them
Hitting you
Up
Jealously lurks
In a cup
You sup
Drunk
Looking to score
Drugs
And lore
Just tell me the story
Of how gory
You are
Inside
Me

Relentless
Listless
I need you
To tell me off
And how
You ate the cost
That something, lost
Cropped off
The last limb of you
Lewd and shrewd
Like shoes
Worn too often
And crude
Made like demons in that Earth,
You squirt me out
Like a curse
Uncertain
That's the worst
But what did u know
But liver
And nurses,
Just the
Worst

Taunting me like a song
Sing to me
Like the bees
Of swallowsville
Stung
Strung
Like weapons
Won
Juice is sucked out
From souls
Taught
Tight
And all over the floor,
Undone

Some short people
Cast repose
Like a shadow
Unknown
And bold
Like a cow
Holy
Sold
Weapons of mass
Nuclear
Obsession
Grace the halls
Like poison
Enthralling
Bomb
Like cherry over cream cones
And blondes
Luring me in
With their calm
Wringing me
From the neck down
You lost
Me
The cost of you
Was too much to pay
I said
Crazy
Like the conversation
With you
Soppy
Lost
A soul, I'm blessed be
Sharing the cost
Can't you come up with something new
Instead of everything
Skewed
Prosperous
Wrong
Sauced for it
I look twice
Locks
Caught
You in them
You sung
While Bessie won
Your story was unsung
Like a proud, loud
Madman
The young
Are so boisterous
Like the latest drug,
All over
You're pretty, they say
With hay
In their mouths
Like clay and
Dust

By Robyn Eggs

Copyright: February 2nd, 2018
Artist: Robyn Eggs Photography
Device: Samsung Galaxy S8 (smartphone)
Editor: Pixlr
Inquiries: robyneggsandtoast@gmail.com
Facebook.com/robyneggsphotography
Facebook.com/RobyneggsArt
Instagram.com/@robbinsleggs