Handbag

The poor girl, so in love, so confused…
Was she just there to keep him amused?
To look good by his side,
While she’s dying inside?
To be fucked, when he liked, and abused?

Come and gone

At an age where her prospects had dwindled,
Romance had, at last, it seemed, kindled!
She lowered her pants,
Leaving nothing to chance,
But next morning found out she’d been swindled!

Plain talkin’

“Would you kindly stop sayin’ I’m pretty”,
She said. “‘Cause I ain’t, more’s the pity.
Quit talkin’ ’bout love. It
Fair sickens me! Shove it!
And get your damn hand off my titty!”

Afterthoughts

He pulled out of her, started to shrivel.
She thought it would only be civil
To thank her, at least,
(Bloody ungrateful beast),
Say he loved her, and all of that drivel!


Home truth

Love and romance? Just drôle, silly fiction!
Contrary to such dull depiction,
Men fancy big tits,
And a pussy that fits
Slick as silk, and with just enough friction!