Tumor

While he didn’t really like me, clearly,

I’ll still miss him dearly.

He whom I loved in spite of everything.

I never could discern truth from a lie.

A forked tongue and a wicked sense of humor –

too wicked, sometimes; it matasticized like a

tumor and ate me alive.

Hag

Suddenly, the myopia of my soul cleared,

and I saw:

The ugly little girl become a wretched, bitter hag.

Ancient ridicule replicated ad infinitum,

translated into a modern curse.

It never ends, but it could be worse.

Anger

How much anger can one swallow?

Hot acid fills the hollow.

Grind your teeth and pull your hair,

It’s still there.

Burning, boiling to the brim,

Galvanizing the soul within.

That is to Say…

I have a tendency to love those who care for me the least;

that is to say, love for me is out of reach.

Those I love would rather I were dead, decaying somewhere in a ditch;

that is to say, my friendship is the stench of garbage set on the curb.

Forest

I perpetually can’t see the horizon.

This forest has too many trees.

Spiders rapidly descend on their prey, discarding bloodless bodies in their wake.

I know you can’t feel fondness for me.

The birds stop singing. There’s a hawk nearby. There’s the squealing of a mouse.

I like hearing you say my name even when you’re angry.

Delta

When the Delta variant takes me in her warm embrace, phlegm filling my lungs;

Don’t pretend any of you really cared. Don’t let them put me on life support.

Let me feel myself drowning. Let me slip into sepsis, so that I know how my mother felt all those years ago.

I’ve wandered this world alone, my friends are transactions. I was not meant for normalcy. Life is meaningless.

Oscar

If God were merciful,

it would be me in your stead.

Your GED study book lays

unopened on your bed.

Your mother prays over

your body,

Your beautiful mind and soul

part from earth evermore.

Thirty-four, you won’t grow old;

It’s not fair, but life seldom is.

Comforting you gave me some

purpose, now I’m empty.

You were so close to turning your

life around from the cliff that

you strayed too close.

Say hello to my mother for me.

Why?

Why was I born this way,

to be society’s burden?

To be a blight on life,

and a disappointment

to everyone’s path I cross.

To feel like a human,

though just barely.

To love meaning well,

but it all becomes hell.

Amy Klobuchar and Joe Biden: My Dick was Made for Ridin’by Lisa B.

It was after the debate,

and Joe Biden needed

to masturbate.

The urge was just too strong

to whip out and stroke his dong.

Known as the ‘hands on candidate,’

Senator Biden was a huge reprobate.

Frottering the ladies and sniffing hair,

Joe’s wayward touching was everywhere.

He just had to find a room quick and soon

to drop his pants lest he become a buffoon.

Where was a bathroom, a closet, a trash bin?

Somewhere to commit his secret sin

.

Suddenly the senator’s ears were as alert as his dick.

A kerfuffle was going on in the thick.

A midwestern squealing, 

shrill and unappealing, 

wafted through a closed door.

“I said I wanted Perrier, not La Croix,

you thoughtless, dim-witted whore!”

The sound of a can hitting a wall,

frantic apologies, and a voice saying ‘damn  ’em all.’

Out spilled an intern and an aide,

running away like their boss was the plague.

Red faced with hands on her hips,

it was Senator Amy Klobuchar in a fit.

The eyes of Satan flashing firey hell,

suddenly, on Joe Biden her glance fell.

“Senator Biden, what a nice surprise!” 

Amy’s voice,  saccharine sweet,

declared without missing a beat.

‘Oh, Amy, you were so great!

You caused Senator Sanders’

socialist ideals to deflate…

And looking  so beautiful too. 

Let me give you a congratulatory hug 

and a little kiss. Hold still, I won’ t miss.

Mmm..Is that Pert Plus?”

“Well, you know me,

I don’t like to make a fuss,”

said Amy,  patting her hair.

.

Mr. Biden reached subtly her derriere.

“You’d make a great VP, Amy.”

“Joe, do you have a VD?”

“Nope, not me.”

“Then close the door; let me see.

I’ve always wanted to fuck you,

Senator Biden.”

“Well, Amy, my dick was made for ridin’.”

And ride is what she did,

frantic liver spotted hands

clawing against her soft skin.

“I’m not getting off,” moaned Klobuchar,

Bouncing up and down on his cock.

“You better make me come, mother fucker,”

she said, in threat and demand.

She perched on the dressing room table, 

Joe went down with his mouth,

on a vagina that smelled like cheese

but tasted like stale ale.

“Wait, I know what I need.

Get up and get me my purse.”

She dug to the bottom of her bag,

And pulled out a plastic fork.

“Fuck me by that wall;

I want to look in the mirror

and see it all.”

“Ma’am, I aim to please, 

Joe decreed,

But what Amy did next

nearly brought 

the geriatric man to his knees.

Amy shoved the fork’s handle,

without much preamble,

up Biden’s behind.

” Why-why-why-why?”

stuttered Joe,

who was about to 

shoot his load.

“It’s my kink,

plus I shudder to think

of ever being without

adequate cutlery.”