Is This Your Secret Too Poem by James McLain

I am always his, happiness is when he is in me, savagely.
Where the hyper, Vilnius is slowly played.
Only will I do it when he thinks mum is sleeping.
The oil smells too good it goes in so easy,
and no more does it hurt like it once years ago it did.
His is the steering wheel his to pull, the key is me over turned.
I feel that feeling of fear and fear fills me deeply up, me.
I wash off his hurried to the base his secret,
inside of my secret, it possess me fully I get wet, am I dark?
Anyone did not who I love ever call me they know.
Calling out in the dark as it goes slower the slowest, slowly in.
Under any condition.
When I return to the house, everyday, the mother she waits. Independently she claims I am blessed.
Then she' ll hit it in the center hard against me the spoon or his shoe.
In and out slowly pulling it out makes me see, until I bleed.
Swooning I do it is fat, black and blue.
When as for the father no not mine I am fourteen years old,
she by the first who was nice before we were left, she drank.
Ever since all she sees is of that.
Does my responsibly from she mine that is.
It is scurvy,
foolishness, when I am tart, as for my phat is it to him good, quality?
He bores into my defect to which he never leaves us, was is it he feels?
It always comes.
It is thick and I hear it does hard things to my soft things?
These things I had thought they were mine not to give.
My fat duck and the diving and, as for me now how, his doing,
that grows more often occasionally it can curve, but I finally.
Torn panties, I deserve it.
The never ending soundings, his profit does he fills my something.. Hospitals several.
As for me my brother, With you it played, heaver hitter of It.
Explanation where my the legs finger prints of.
Full of cream Inside that, I.
Being broken freely inside me it goes, he is happy,
feels good not to lie. But I to everyone say to that it is time.
I possess his huge secret, where anyone does not yours to inform.