I remember being disheartened
While sizing up my opponents,
Their flagella far more motile than mine.

Fine-tuning their advanced acrosomes,
Most could penetrate in record time
Still all were anxious of the performance
From those double-headed prototypes.

Fighting to initiate the discharge
Gonorrhea threw down the gauntlet
And lost, defeated by “le déluge” himself

The archaic spermatorrhea,
Though he was altogether a worthy foe
Who contracted the deferent vessels

As we swam towards that luxurious hole
Only to find our fragile bodies liquefying
Among telltale objects in a toilet bowl.

Twenty new words to mesmerize
Under classical music and clamminess
Separated from their imposing radicals
Meet my tenderizer happiness.

The torturer who uses instruments
That were stroked with timeless thought
Is in truth a nervously wrecked podophile
Haunted by ketchup he has wrought.

I am one of those demented hunchbacks
Exchanging umbilical cords for LAN cables
With a grimy tongue reminiscent of swine
Roasted for a feast at the Tower of Babel.

Yes, my tongue is confused and vaginal,
Fully possessed with dentata and djinns
And my dungeon holds twenty old virgins
All clawing through waxy skin.

The aesthetic of death as we know it—
Personified in ourselves
And all our fatalisms that corrode
Gnarled iron skeletons of desolate ideals
Never intended to be consummated
In this self-destruction mode.

All part of the stereotypical cattle
Propagated by a sole monolith
That we will abort and cause to implode
Into its own putrefied flesh
Annihilating everything along with us
In our vivicidal mode.

Entities functioning merely for abuse
Stem the aggressive flow
Until at the inevitable crossroad
Of decision our proclivities banish us
To whence no traveler can return
In the death instinct mode.