on your back from the dead

A Poem by skye

After rotting in the ground for six months your mushy, worm infested, brain somehow gave you the motor skills and memory to claw through our front door and take me to bed.

rapist are gentler at taking clothes off than the way my favorite shirt strangled me violently before the fabric ripped apart, falling to the floor.
I didn't mind, though, when your knees collapsed, putting you in the perfect position for me to get head from the undead.

if only your jaw hadn't fallen off while a pair of deteriorating lips were around my c**k,
and believe me, you would still have a right leg if I was a little less eager spreading them.
I loved all the blood and maggots strewn across my bed anyway.

angry sex, makeup sex, etc. doesn't compare to the passion between a man and his lovers reanimated corpse.
there's nothing better than penetrating icy cold, possibly diseased, zombie c**t.
all while enjoying the sound of your already consistent moans grow two times louder.