A kink for dissected gutz – DEATH

Death.
Death’s heavy gloom has fallen on this stage as a constant figure,
A familiar presence picking stars from a tree, gutting you for no fee,
Yet tinted in eroticism, it should be considered, observed in fascination,
The mesmerising ambivalence of such dissection,
Those innards are dirty torture grossly covered in suffering,
Those viscera are also a sensual delight of artistic refining,
Stick your hand in the gushing hole and feel the warmth of this intimacy,
Hold tight, your nails poking through the closest view of one’s heart to see.

By now is the time to eat it all up, teeth ripping or fine cutting,
Is your meal drenched in misery or some hardcore SM story?

Open wide and taste the many mature and acquired flavours,
Which flow freely from your mouth to your legs, there’s still more,
Moaning the name of someone who gets off to such overwhelming ‘softness’,
Yearning eternally for that someone who craves touch, restless,
You need to discover massage in its form most extreme, a caress to red-stained organs,
And if a girl brings you feelings you didn’t even think of in your dreams, that’s orgasm,
So make sure that by the end of the night, whether murdered or fucked,
You have no regrets left to welcome this terribly, awfully, wickedly clucked
Death.