Words
Humanism
Idealism
Love
Religion
Empty carts with such fancy names
Crush a beautiful word like my penis.
Are all the roads turning red with blood?
The tart called language
Waiting for ages at the portals of the academy-whorehouse
Stares wrathfully at the eunuchs passing by.
The panties of language have become tattered and threadbare.
A word like my crushed ,bleeding penis
Is thrown out into the street-
Day and night, round the clock.
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