The Forlorn, The Porn, The Scorn.

But surely this is bullshit?
At night the skin aids sleep,
Finger fucked; a pull, a tug,
...Always ends throat deep.

And the girl she moans like mother,
Her eyes they speak faux lust.
Her lips they must be hurting,
Cursing harder; taking thrust.

For her taut and shaven haven,
Is rogered and all do see,
Her pussy bleached albino,
Displays robotic choreography.

For nothing real exists in it,
It creates a filmic lie.
And the boys that educate themselves,
Will keep a woman dry.

So bring us less four, four, two,
And loosen up the game,
For the girls are not as tight nor taut,
Or dependent on skin fame.

Their tits they do not pivot,
Their cunts are foible, frilled,
They don't demand it perma-hard,
It hurts just being drilled.

So take your cock from wind pipes,
And speak and ask instead,
For this isn't just two minutes,
Fake lashes giving head.

And who are you adonis?
To receive such unbridled favour?
This fucking that you see,
Accounts to no more than slave labour.

So stop the porn formation,
For this isn't what to expect.
If this was the truth,
Two minutes, your spoils would cry regret.

Oooh ahhh I love it, go harder,
Oh yeah, you are the man.
He's pumping - selfish - glory,
Shredding en masse hairless clam.

They all like it rough you 'spose,
With shaven cock and ball.
The belly hangs; the moustache leers,
And on chin, bollocks fall.

This repeat to fade; mechanical joust,
Is a universal scoff,
Cos it takes more than two minutes,
To get most of us off.

And now it's time to finish,
He's ready to shoot his load,
She looks dirty at the camera;
Hopes you've seen her goad.

And the finale is abrupt,
In showing you the prize,
Always on the face,
And sometimes in the eyes.

Then you switch off discontented,
That it had to come to this.
When you knew the script, the sounds, the moves,
Empty, vacant. This.

Now the guilt you feel that such a scam,
Could end up in a sock.
But you retire; uncharmed, used, abused.
This animal; withered cock.

So bring me the director,
And let me fist my fury,
For he thinks of boys and minute cuffs,
As true as morning glory.

Let us unleash the spoils,
And show him his disgrace,
Then reprimand his actions,
By cumming on his face.