is brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, and dark red explosions. She is drawn to poetry, abstract visual art, and other forms of expression. Her poetry has appeared in a peculiar multitude of literary publications. You can find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.
I now pronounce you man and breeding lamb.
I now pronounce you man and caged cow.
I now pronounce you his favorite trapped animal
for several years until he wants a new one.
You can now kiss the bride and apply her dog collar.
You can now kiss the bride and apply her shock collar.
You can now kiss the bride and shove her in your cage
or inside your latest suitcase. Zip shut. Bag claim.
Throw the luggage in the trunk.
Leave it locked until the apple inside rots.
Until this ride smells like a bag of rotten fruit, crawling worms
about to dry out. Then the rotten bride will claim
he started this worm infestation and made it wither.
Then he will claim he didn’t marry a big old worm,
but that’s what she has turned herself into.
Then the worms will grow into blood sucking leeches.
Obese, screaming, blood chugging leaches.
He will insist he never picked something this fat and ugly
and old. His pretty piglet turned into a stinking pig
that won’t stop oinking as she tries to suck him dry.
The brides turn into stupid bitches with old face make up.
The grooms turn into lard asses that won’t share
their feelings or talk to women. He’d rather watch porn
where the bodies are skinny and bleached and nude
and more than twenty years younger than him,
and getting fucked as he fantasizes about shoving
his dick down their throats and then shoving them
into his suitcase, locking them inside his trunk,
pronouncing them his, offering them stale dog treats
until another bitch turns into another old stuck pig
with nothing to offer him other than screams
and fatty bacon that needs to be burnt.
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