Thoughts Of Breasts
As I lie here in my bed,
Thoughts of breasts fly through my head,
And through my head the breast thought flits,
Until my head is filled with tits.
Breasts are lovely, lovely things,
Round and juicy, fit for Kings,
With nipples firm and cleavage deep,
I dream about them while I sleep...
A thousand breasts above my bed,
Hovering above my head,
Big and bouncy, firm and pert,
With me they do pout and flirt.
A million breasts, with smiling faces,
In my drawers, and other places,
Filling up my room with love,
A million breasts from up above.
A trillion breasts, it's getting hot,
I try to move but I cannot,
The tits are great, but there's too many!
I need to move! To spend a penny!
I wake up wet and filled with hate,
I'm soaked in piss and don't feel great,
Those bloody tit dreams I abhor,
I don't like large breasts any more.
I like flies,
I think they're cool,
They're pretty buzzing things.
I love them from their
To their sweet silky wings.
I love their legs,
So slim and long,
Their bodies round and pert,
I like to watch them,
And dine on shit and dirt.
I like to stroke them,
As they stand,
Upon my table top,
It makes me smile,
To watch a fly,
Quite merrily go hop.
I like to fondle,
To kiss each tiny hair,
To hug and squeeze,
And lick and love,
The winged things of the air.
Oh I love flies,
They turn me on,
I hang around near bins,
And when a nice one,
I shove it up my minge.
Today I'm feeling thirty
Like I never have before
I really don't feel dirty
Or remotely like a whore
I'd rather have ribena
Than a putrid glass of Boss
Boss seems more obscener
Now I'm 30, tired and cross.
Today I'm feeling thirty
Like a crumpled dry old bag
I've never felt less flirty
'cause I'm looking like a hag
I'd rather take up sewing
Than suck upon a bong
just one thing keeps me going:
I'll be dead before too long.
I have just written most of a poem, but I'm having difficulty with the last line. Can anyone help?
As I was walking down the street
I smelt the smell of cheese
I stood and sniffed and closed my eyes
Against the scrumptious breeze
Delicious brie all ripe and wet
Some stilton brown and strong
And pont l'eveque, quite moist yet firm,
Emitting quite a pong.
I looked around, consumed with greed,
To try and find the source,
I MUST HAVE CHEESE, I said out loud,
With passion too, of course.
I wandered round to no avail,
The smell grew stronger still,
I thought if I did not get cheese,
Someone I'd have to kill.
For miles and miles I searched in vain,
Then sat and gave a grunt,
It WASN'T cheese I'd smelt at all!
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