Placenta Erotica
 

Finished this one up a few nights ago. No music to accompany it. Enjoy.


"Placenta Erotica"

The atmosphere is thick with smoke.
The grunts and groans of the working crew.
The lights fall dim, the music kicks in.
The vixen steps from between the curtains.

A sea of sagging waethered faces.
Grins exposing yellowed dentures.
Hairy knuckles, scabby fingers.
All grasping for a piece of action.

The bloated stomach, cramping, kicking.
Yet the vixen's gotta keep working.
Nicotine stains and cottage cheese.
The woman's paid to please.

The cruddy speakers blast half-static.
The strobe lights fluxing, pulse and fizzle.
The drinks keep coming, the crowd is humming.
Half-mast, the audience pays.

Sweating rivers of salt and bourbon.
The morning sickness far from over.
Yet still gyrating, the pole is waiting.
The climax on the way.

Chrous rumbling, stomach grumbling.
The dam breaks loose, the water's rushing.
Upon the stage, a gift presented.
A package of placenta and blood.

Too wasted to even bat an eye.
The song dies down as new life cries.
The crowd tosses her a buck or two...

...I think I'll name him Charlie.

I don't like it. It seems to gloomy.

sorta crude but nice ryhmes

I liked it. Good job.

Drop 'em dope beats, niqqa. (Compliment in thug)