Hey guys! I think I may have found the worst poem ever.
It is here, on some sort of appalling amateur writing zine called "ink sweat and tears" (needs more blood) and it is by someone called Stephanie Davies who, if she is any older than 15, should be forever banned from writing so much as a Christmas card for producing this piece of reeking tripe.* I'm not going to pick it apart. It picks itself apart! It goes bad-bad-bad-bad-worse.
A party someplace, down in the dirt
With her blouse undone and a hand up her skirt
She lays, her body compliant as clay
And softly her mind drifts to thoughts of decay.
His thoughts, to delay, are on Kevin Rudd
His thrusts push her further into the mud.
She thinks: undressed, every boy is just the same;
Her heart aches with you don’t even know my name.
But he’s done, murmuring allegories into her ear
So she sits up and swallows the rest of her beer.
WORST. POEM. EVER.
*I know this sentence is grammatically incorrect but I can't figure out how to fix it.
P.S. I was talking to a hooker today and she is making $500 - $1000 per day. PER DAY. I feel a career change coming on. How many jobs can you make that kind of money in an entry level position? Heh. Entry level position.