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I find it discerning to know that you are the Queen,

to my mind and my heart within a harlot’s ribcage.

Never did I think I would ever preen,

under your dark, unkind gaze.

Your obsession is so contagious,

and I love that it hurts whenever you suffocate me with,

your demeaning words, then call me ‘gorgeous’,

while I breathe in your hush, hush and listen to your filth.

And even when you get on your knees,

I feel like I’m the one adorning, worshipping, believing in you.

I don’t want you to swallow me up, but you make me beg, ‘Please,

let me touch you.’ and you bring your pierced lips and we redo,

all of this again and I’m stuck, I’m stuck stuck stuck,

and can only hide this all by saying you're a 'good fuck'.


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