The Fag Catcher

I had an erection
because
he had an erection.

I sucked his cock.

I sucked every one of  them.

I loved cock.

I was
the gayest man
in my dreams.

I was also
a prisoner,
a brain washed slut
built for
sucking cock.

My owners were
serial killers.

They loved
the smell of
blood.

Not mine.

Hence,
why I was still
alive.

They just wanted
my mouth.

We went on like this,
they kept killing and killing
and I kept sucking and sucking,
but after awhile,
their murders
caught the attention
of the public.

In the madness,
they lost track
of their prized
cocksucker.

The chains of my mind
had somehow
dissolved
and I slipped away.

I phoned the police.

They followed me
to the house
of torture.

Inside,
my owners
were ready.

Death
was all they desired,
especially their own.

Officers ran in,
expecting the worse.

They got it.

As soon as they rammed
the door in,
they walked in on Joe
cutting off his own genitals
with a pair of scissors.

They stood motionless,
not knowing what to do,
as he stabbed away
at his neck and groin.

Before they could react,
he had put more holes
in him
than a dart board.

He was the beginning....

Next came the mother, Michele.

When they found her,
she had a gun to her head,
they tried to talk
her down.

That's when
she began to shoot
herself,
in the hand,
leg,
knee,
stomach,
heart.

One by one,
in each room of the house,
the family
dismembered
each other.

In the end,
there was nothing
worth saving.

The son, Obama,
however,
escaped.

He took me with him.

He wanted me,
my mouth.

I was his prisoner now.

His and his alone.

He led me out,
I could feel the gun
pressing
right in my asshole.

We stopped
at a river.

He proposed.

I said yes.

I, too, loved the smell
of blood.

I loved his cock
even more.

I was
the gayest man
in my dreams.