Is death really something worthy
of hoping for?
Does it mean I love you when I hold my penis
while I lick your tile floor?
Will you ever insert my art between your legs
and beg me to give you more?
With one hand in my pants
clutching at eternity,
I think about you and your vicious smile,
Knowing better than most that this
is the way things are done.
With nothing suitable left to kill,
we should finally kill ourselves.