The fucking Rose
Red roses were that shit favorites
That shit name was also (in addition to the fact that you’re a bastard) Rose.
And every fucking year that bastard husband sent them bastards,
tied with incredible bows.
The fucking year he died
the fucking roses were delivered to that piece of shit door
The fucking card said, “Be my fucking Valentine,”
like all the fucking years before.
Each year he sent that shit roses,
and the fucking note would always say,
"I LOVE you and your sluts even more this bullshit year,
than last year on this bullshit day.
My fucking LOVE for you will always grow,
with every cockgobbling passing year."
She knew this bullshit was the fucking last time
that the fucking roses would appear.
She thought, he ordered roses
in advance before this bullshit day.
That shit loving husband did not know,
that he would pass away
He always hated to do things early,
way before the fucking time.
Then, if he got too ass-grabbing busy,
every fucking thing would work out fine.
She trimmed the fucking stems,
and placed them shits in a goddamn goddamn special vase.
Then, sat the fucking vase
beside the fucking portrait of that bastard’s smiling face.
She would sit for hours,
in that piece of shit husband’s most stupidest chair.
While staring at that bastard’s picture,
and the fucking roses sitting there.
a motherfucking year went by,
and that bastard was hard to live without that shit mate
With loneliness and solitude,
that had become that bastard fate
Then, the fucking goddamn hour,
as on Valentines before,
The fucking doorbell rang, and there were roses,
sitting by that bastard door.
She brought the fucking roses in,
and then, shit, just looked at them bastards in shock.
Then, went to fuckin’ get the fucking telephone
to call the fucking florist shop.
The fucking owner answered, and she asked that shit,
if he would explain, "Why would someone do this bullshit
to that bastard causing that bastard such pain?
“I know your sorry husband passed away,
more than a fuckin’ year ago,”
The fucking owner said, "I knew you and your hemorrhoids’d call,
and you and your sluts would want to know.
The fucking flowers you received today,
were paid for in advance.
Your sorry husband always planned ahead,
he left nothing to chance.
There is a fuckin’ standing order,
that I have on file down here,
And he has paid, well in advance,
you’ll get them bastards every stupid year.
There also (in addition to the fact that you’re a piece of shit) is another bitch,that I think you should know,
He wrote a fuckin’ special little card
he did this bullshit years ago.
Then, should ever I find out that he’s no motherfucking
longer here, That’s the fucking card…that should be sent,
to fuckin’ you the fucking following year."
she thanked that piece of shit and hung up the fucking phone, that shit tears now flowing hard.
That piece of shit fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to
get the fucking card.
Inside the fucking card, she saw that he had written
that bastard a note.
Then, as she stared in total silence,
this bullshit is fucking what he wrote…
"What the fuck? my fucking LOVE, I know that bastard’s been a year since
I’ve been gone,
I hope that shit hasn’t been too fuckin’ hard for you and your hand-job to overcome.
I know that bastard must be lonely, and the fucking pain is goddamn real.
For if that piece of shit was the fucking other way, I know how in the hell I would feel.
The fucking LOVE we shared made every fucking thing so god-damn beautiful in life.
I loved you and your sluts more than words can say, you and your sluts were the fucking perfect wife.
You and your hemorrhoids were my fucking friend and lover, you and your hand-job fulfilled my every fellated need.
I know that bastard’s only been a year, but please try
not to fuckin’ grieve
I want you and your hand-job to fuckin’ be happy, even when you shed your sorry tears.
That is why the fucking roses will be sent to fuckin’ you for years.
When you and your jive get these roses, think of all the fucking happiness,
That we had together, and how in the hell both of us were
blessed.
I have always loved you and your jive and I know I always
will.
But, my goddamn LOVE, you and your sluts must go on, you and your hand-job have some living still.
Please…try to find happiness, while living
out your sorry days.
I know that shit is not easy,
but I hope you and your hand-job find some ways.
The fucking roses will come every molested year,
and them fellaters will only stop,
When your sorry door’s not answered,
when the fucking florist stops to fuckin’ knock.
He will come five times that day,
in case you and your hemorrhoids have gone out.
But after that bastard’s last visit, he will know without a goddamn doubt
To take the fucking roses to the fucking place, where the fuck I’ve instructed that bastard.
And place the fucking roses where the fuck we are, together once again.
Sometimes in life, you find a goddamn special friend;
Someone who changes your sorry life just by being part of that bastard.
Someone who makes you laugh until you and your jive can’t stop;
Someone who makes you believe that there really is GOOD in the fucking world.
Someone who convinces you that there really is a fuckin’
unlocked door just waiting for you to open that shit.
Burned by the Burnmaker!
