My wife now gets the breakfast in bed she always wanted. <br />Eggs, bacon, waffles, and my crushed testicles. servered cold <br />just like her. she took them years ago, now she can eat them. <br />blood drenches my pajama front, as rubber bands stop me from bleeding out of my ruined groin. <br /> <br />tray in hand I walk gently towards my sleeping queen. <br />as I stop at the closed bedroom door and rap oh so slight. <br />with a soft tone she anwsers, come in. <br />and I do, exclaiming as I walk towards my dearest. <br />my love breakfast is served.<br /><br />vincent armone<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crushed-testicles/
