Horror Story of Love

Guest post today from my fella. While you’re waiting for the Warriors to finish off the Cavs (sorry, LeBron. I love you, though), consider for a moment the Mervyn Peake-esque talent with which I live. (He wrote it for me.)

Warning: this is disgusting.


A rug it is and a slug it is
And like a moldy plug it is:
              this ugly bug-love I have for you.
Breath deep of its salty musk
And choke with profound disgust
At the lush rottenness of the cusk
that fills my reeking husk:
              I’m brimming with putrid fish-rot love for you.
Can you hear, my earless dear?!?
It’s me! Your beast filled with yeast,
sweating his pungent grease,
sliming you up a bubbling feast.
              It’s a redolant and sloppy love for you.
Don’t you get it?!?
I’m sick for you!
I’m gross for you!
I’d lick some shit’s whitlows for you!
You’re mine,
              my decrepit and wizened ghoul of love.
As to me? I’m a hippo! I’m a pig!
I’m only happiest when I dig
in your twilligs and your brigs!
              Of course, I’m drowning in this cream-thick wabe of love.
I mean, how could I win?
How does one even begin
when he’s tied and trapped
In a windowless den?
              Oh, what a dreadful horror story of love. 

-kegen dean benson


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