enjoy this shit
with a passion.
~kush roll, glass full, i perfer the better things.~
lets be friends :) :)
you taught me that a gun
without a bullet
weighs much more than
that has something to hold.
i tried to eat my whole heart raw once.
but i could not stomach it. could not stomach the noxious ventricles down my throat, could not swallow the bollus of unfleshly pink carnage.
so i broke it into pieces and i blamed you instead, because it seemed easier to say you broke me than to say that i ever loved you.
this is how you broke me :
whenever i thought of you fucking her i would think of dying inside.
dying is a blessing.
dying is the movie that i am too young to watch but too old to resist. dying is divinity, it is paradisical death in slow motion, an entity mushrooming in between the eyes of a decaying rabbit. it is tears being sucked back into the eyes of a small girl, legs apart, hymen ripped, the fruitlessness of futility bleeding out like saliva from a mouth. dying is being idle, dying is being able to think without questioning existence, dying is a moth, paled by smoke.
it is that tuesday night i promised myself i would never write again
if all i wrote was about you.
this is how i broke myself :
whenever i thought of you dying inside her, i would think of fucking.
fucking is a blessing.
fucking is the reason an orchid can sing without a stigma. fucking is the malformation of your tongue when you say " i hate myself, because i hate you, but i hate you more. ". fucking is about three blocks away from love. fucking and love are probably secret fuck buddies. fucking is saying you love her. fucking is saying you love me. fucking is that heart-shaped bruise that you left on my wrist, that tuesday night you raped me and called it love. fucking is telling me i am not her.
this disposition of 'her', the realisation she plays a better 'her', than i play 'her', the realisation that she stole 'her' from me, when'her' was a dream both of us could hope to fake.
why people are kept broken:
you once told me, while ashing out a cigarette on my neck,
"it is better to stay broken so nothing else can ever break you again."
to the garden lack of the pulse of insect's colour
paved with voices,
a dreaming girl selling her little body
girl in box, girl in box,
when will she be let out?
a dreaming girl, dreaming
in her empty dream
i do not think i am late, am i?
who is still here?
and the sheep turned on their sheopard
and drank their saviors blood
thinking it was rain
as the bombs tore holes in Gods skins
and he quieted..,
but not for many years.
after all that was left was a scar and His hands. which took on arthritus.
white (birds and red) birds
making blisters in the sky
- - memento mori.
your face as pale as knuckle,
it fell off like a stubborn cherry,
your mouth is clever as a cunt
and mine isn't.
they wanna see me dead, puttin prices on my head,
spread da rumorz around town, like i fell down!
they can hold me down, they cant stop my shine!
they cant block my grind!
SHAWTY ITZ GAME TIME!!!
its a WAKA FLOCKA FLAME song,
but yehh. :)
just what it is.. lol
I reside in your stomach, lying here is bliss…getting gnawed on everyday by your attacking pepsin enzyme. I suspect you would not digest me yet, dear Jennor? You sneak. You, I believe have changed me the most, with your knives. You cut and carve me in your pleasure…shaping, moulding me into the person ridiculously typing this myfuck fuck today. In return, I’ve done nothing but bleed with you under the cyanide sun. You’ve ordered me to write, of which I obeyed, and forced me into acceptance. You protect me from everything, at a distance, possessively stalking from the shadows. For that I thank you, and I adore you, ever so dastardly. When I am strong enough, I shall protect you too, and be there to save you…I shall infeckt you in my eternity. You claim my soul, locked up for safety …and but of course, our secrets shall stay untold. Smother me, until I am purple and can no longer breathe.
The sun would always come out a little after
the mind massacre
- follow the monsters-
i fancy lying on the
because it is the only place
where the train of vertebrates in
can set in its rails.
i am a void
bleeding out oxidised civilisation
-holes in my head-
in a world where colours
are just fabricated memoirs
of porcelain filmstrips.
i fear that i am becoming anorexic:
my brain is splattered onto
a tiny plate
where i maliciously
pick out the
soft and pretty
My tongue is cancerous,
segregating words into
Pinks' and greys'.
my heart has malformed into
an ugly blister
of dismal yesterdays.
in an acid bath
of bleach and ice.
can't find the light
beneath the glass
piece of shit
david wayne johnson
i hate you.
uhm... about JRs dumb ugly stupid dad.
i'll wear your braclet of cherry beads.
Draw me a pretty pink heart
on my wrist
so i can wear him
in the water.
You kiss me
with cherry lips
-stiletto sliting substratums-
The air is foreign
i'll remain in
too much to
My flesh is weeping
as another basin of
cherry beads blossom.
Ther a b b i t,lead me into calamity.
My ashes that used to haunt me..
-I shaped them into pretty dolls.
I am not one of these leather wearing bitches you see on bdsm sites. I am real. I listen to 911 calls on repeat. Images of gore, abortions, death, and torture fill me with unbridled lust.
Humans are amazing... Their build, their skin, with billions of embedded pain receptors. Optic nerves, sending horrific images directly into their frontal lobes. I love their faces, tiny changes in their expressions with different types and increments of pain.
There is such a glorious range and variety of pain that can be inflicted upon a human. Few appreciate the sublime canvas of a humans body. Each sense can be tweaked and tormented. All of there emotions can be played like an instrument, by someone with the right skills and tools. Their screams are sublime.
There is a certain kind of scream a person lets out, the moment they realize their own mortality, but it is beyond words. It makes me see red. I lust for it. I adore it.
I am free. I am not bounded by your conceptions of morality. Murder, rape, and torture are simply choices. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want to whomever I want. Whether it is one death, a million, a billion, or an entire planet or the entire universe, it means less than nothing to me. I have no ideology, religion, or higher purpose. If the slab of meat and chemicals you call your mind is searching for a word to append to me, just think of me as an artist. My medium is flesh.
I walk among you. I understand you better than you understand yourself. I have studied the human body, peeled back the layers of flesh, the emotions. I see right through you. I am the nice, unassuming person you know. We share secrets. Some of you like me. Some of you love me.
None of you know me.
I am, sadist.
its lame but watevsssss
i cant write for shit today,
i think my brain wont work.. or something,
tomorrow, ima force it to work! >:)
CJ attack you from the metronome
Catch you in your groove home alone
Blowin wit the chrome
Im blowin to the bone
My title be known.. cannibal.. dynamical maestro
Sparked and fully hydroed my team of psychos
Sell it higher than the Eifel Towers
Seconds minutes led the hour.. wein the power
Spittin bibles..the sunshower.. the wise out on the scene
They think we forget the dream
My aura sheens like morphine in your veins
Pastors saying can you and your crew.. oooh stand the rain
Many men possess the gin in the jungle of sin
Deeper than.. Sum chosen others frozen
From the explosion, my opposition
Protect my team of demolitions, full competition
Keep em drinkin Benjin
Like some chicken heads on the ground
Bite the trey pound for foes that wanna get down
Me and my clique sharpen the sound
Infiltrate the town
its coool tho, and it was fun :)
Straight faced In your embrace Gripped around my heart Innocent I plead my case
I'm never going back Please don't unwind This tether twined Around your heart
This tether breaks Decay Erase Finish what you start I know that it's not too late To save
us from ourselves Remember when your smile Made everything worthwhile
Finish what you start
ii like it!!!
i forgot how to write..
everytime i try, it comes out ugly,
i hate it. the poet poems,
are the lamest shit ever,
but i tried,
ill try again :)
we were speeding on 'e'
in dastardly overused lexemes
i used to forget, ending
peachy words with
'jolie' (or 'moche').
he writes lines and
chisels octaves onto my
skin, dough, bones and lacquers,
he says they are the only places
where mad love-notes would fit
without the keys.
the bed has turned bipolar,
diagnosed with isochronous stability.
we sleep in half-cut apples
held up by sombre scissors.
he imbibes couplets
from strophe tea-cups,
he leaves me hungover
in stanza trains.
he says that i am
the last pen he has and
if i were to stop dreaming,
the poet would be dead.
write: writhe, wither.