Fat Goth Poetry

Your tawdry cheapness
Tempts me
Your promises of
Lasting gothic glory
Taunt me

Why do you run
When I need you to stay?
Why do you cling
When I want you to go away?

I long to scrub you
From my wasted flesh
But though I scour
Your death wax residue
Will not be washed clean

Though water proof
Yet not sweat proof
You prove to be
Soap proof

My lolly pop
My sugar sweet
My perfect top

So elite.

See me squeeze
See me dance
See my curves

An avalanche.

Buckles straining
Tendons tight
Ribbing shrieking

Goth delight.

Skin glistening with anticipation.

Quivering with incipient delight.

I long to pierce you and sate my need

Pudding.