While I Type Out This Poetry

"WHILE I TYPE OUT THIS POETRY" I watch the whore give feeble attempts at being a good mother but the cock is just too important. as I watch her eat her foul- tasting food, the cock is just too important. as I watch her stand there and hate me with her eyes, the cock is just too important. as I watch her stand there in her cheap one dollar and fifty cent dress she bought from the second-hand store, the cock is just too important. as her kids that were conceived out of attention scream in the back room, the cock is just too important. as she calls her bank card to reassure herself of the amount of money she’s made, the cock is just too important. if I asked her what was really important, she’d say her kids but we all know the cock is just too important. filth is her life and everything that surrounds it. call this call of her bull- !@#$ whatever you want but you don’t know the whore the way I do. whores never change, as the saying goes: “you can’t turn a whore into a house wife.” never for their children, never for the better, the only change they make, is the location of where they consume the cock. tonight, while I write this poetry, the whore who works out of the casino grins. her cocks are on the other side of town and she licks her lips, waiting to swallow the paste that fuels her life. By: Chicano Eddie 6152017