Let's Get Fucked up and Die

Author's note: I apologize for the explicit nature of this poem. For any committed readers out there, do not let the cuss words themselves deter you from reading, instead I hope you understand the importance of their influence in this piece.

What more are we than muscle, bone and tissue?

Motivated by hormones and misplaced sperm

And what purpose do we hold more than

Bunnies bouncing back to breast and then to die?

Then what is life if not a massive fuck and die vortex?

Falling, flailing, struggling, sailing, prevailing in no way

What else is there than the

Crescent evanescent and decline of the sublime

Acute ability for servility and incivility

And I try

Sure there is more than fuck it?

Give me a higher purpose. Fuck for God!

Fuck for the bunnies, and unpredicted death

Fuck for the hormones and misplaced sperm

Fuck for the long dreary days and lonely nights

But what more than to fuck?

In the sucking muck bullshit

What purpose other than the death

Trudging and budging my way through existence

Monotony, monotheistic, monochromatic masturbating bullshit.

Make me feel more than fuck it!

Give me higher purpose and desire steaming fresh

On a plate spray painted gold and gussy shine.

I’d be lying to deny

That I didn’t want to be held and meld

In the dying arms of another

They do in romance movies…

But what is more fun than sex?

For we are imbued to be screwed

And to be prude is quite surely rude

For those in the mood of “love.”

So let me get fucked up and die.

Best,
Anna Belle Lee