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My Quentin loves me still he just stopped by.
He knocked this time, begged me to let him in.
He said that he was horny, moist, and high.
He said he had some time and needed skin.
I didn’t let him get me though he loomed,
despite the fact he kissed me on the cheek.
I could not let my poetry be doomed,
not like I did years back when I was weak.
My Quentin rubbed his fingers through my hair,
he drew in close and I could feel his breath.;
it smelled just like fresh ass and stale beer…
he came with love, his plan for me was death.
My Quentin left, I knew I would be fine;
still scares me though that I still call him mine.
My Quentin brought some oxys to my door,
expecting me to get us both a glass.
“I got him, now to knock him to the floor.“
He planned to knock me out and take my ass.
He’s not about a sweet and true romance;
my Quentin also brought some crack cocaine…
two pipes; one in his hand one in his pants…
the perfect mix of pleasure and of pain.
My Quentin said he loves me, sure he does…
he loves to make my life a living hell;
Sometimes I ask him why he says, “Because…
you think of me, your balls begin to swell.”
If Quentin got his way, I know one thing…
it would be hard to write, ass in a sling!
The Final Assault
I’ve come to know my Quentin like a book.
I’ve worshipped him as sure as shit is brown;
sweet as his chocolates were there was a hook…
I paid a price, he always tore me down.
There’s no one man on Earth worth all that pain;
my talents are worth more than those desires.
For now, today, I must choose to abstain;
make love to poetry, the friendly fires.
I’ve never loved so much yet felt such hate,
for Quintessential Quentin and his draw.
Sometimes I’m even scared to masturbate…
I’ve done that too until the meat was raw.
I have two choices; poems, dirty sheets…
for now, I’ll have to pass on all his sweets.
