The Manticore

Let us speak of my prick
Let us speak of my big dead dick
His plucky fight against arithmetic
My advancing age has set the stage
My dick is dead
My big dick is dead
Like a great beached whale
He lies upon the shore
Of my beach-like bed
I can even hear him snore
What does he dream?
Of all the cunts he’s seen?
With his single eye
His beady eye?
I will bury him deep
In a hole of human flesh
In the cunt of a cheap
Grudgingly willing wench
That’s the only place
He’s gonna rest in peace
For the sake of me
And humanity
My big dead dick
Was dragging down this world
He was making me sick
Polluting every girl
Spreading his wild oats
Where there should have been corn
He’d be better off dead
Or maybe making porn
Let us speak no more
Of that atrocious bore
That egomaniac
That manticore
Which devours a man
Leaving not even a bone
Or belonging behind
Nor did he leave mine