Friday, October 23, 2009


Is it odd of me to think of you,

As a paper doll all shiny and new,

Folded just right,

So thin and so tight,

As a toy which hangs for consumers to view?

Is it crude of me to only see,

You unwrapped and I controlling thee,

Removed of fabric,

Left soft and so smooth,

Or do you like it when I peel back your plastic packaging?

Does it turn you on when I press,

Along the buttons of your chest,

So your face lights up,

And you huff and puff,

Until your hands start to fondle, then caress?

Do you always tend to be,

So willing to test your flexibility,

Playing so rough,

So noisy, so gruff,

That we melt in each other’s flame of symmetry?

Then let me have my way with you,

Where I’ll pull you apart and violate you,

Until your paint chips,

Scratched and bruised,

Beyond repair from ever being sold as used,

But don’t worry doll, this bond is strong,

Which is why I wrote my name down on your underarm.

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