sorrow comes angrily
sorrow rests its eager shaft
in its makeshift home, my anal cavity
with the thrust of zeal, forth and back
it renders me prone in the hope of brevity
sorrow bends me over and mops my ring
it goes in dry without hope of moisture
its joy is to cause a maximum sting
and reduce me to a rag dolls posture
sorrow laughs at my tears and goes in deeper
and takes me further, from tip to hilt
its not content with my animals whimper
only sated when my blood is spilt
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