Comes my dear Mr. Milk moustache
Swathi eruvaram
Swathi eruvaram
Nov 17, 2015

He comes everyday
Every morning, every night
Like the morning sun and twilight
After gulping down a glass of milk
Comes my dear Mr. Milk moustache

#son   #milk   #moustache  
use God knows my face can't grow a damn moustache.
Camps
Camps
Jan 30, 2014

I gave my dick a soulpatch
Because God knows my face can't grow a damn moustache.
Look Mom, I shaved against the grain;
I can't believe it's baby smooth all over again.

#art   #body   #shaving   #moustache  
Mokomboso
Mokomboso
Mar 25

Lisa May's a pretty name
Pink and pastel, ribbons and bows
A garden of buds
Blooming woman hood
Lisa May of delicate voice
Like sugar for the ears
Softness, smoothness, curls and curves
A proper lady
Lisa May adorned in frills
Lipstick, bodice, ant bottom skirt
Dainty hands light a match
Groomed fingernails chipped and cracked
Drop the flame where you stand
Watch it burn
Into crisp fabric dust
Lisa May wash away
The ashen snow
Lisa May has lost his clothes
Lisa May lacking grace
With a 5 oclock shadow
Made of charcoal, he asks
What's your name?
Lisa May
Lisa May
Girlish voices scratched away
Laughing raspily at the scorched remains
Of your ugly ass costume
Lisa May's an ugly ass name
Sickly sweet like birthday cake
Wildfires make way for regrowth
The vibrant green and seedling trees
Breathe the smoke and make it clean

I changed my name recently because of gender stuff. It wasn't Lisa May but it was equally as girly so I changed it to something boyishly unisex.
the pencil thin moustache men
mark john junor
mark john junor
Sep 22, 2014

her rigorous objections
are herded slowly down the sheep trail
by studious pencil thin men with stylish mustache's
who have deep pocket pickers for friends
they gather round the weak willed and the willing alike
looking for cheap thrills and spare change
everybody needs a new road
when the old one seems to never end

but she with eyes cast down
mumbles her unappeased desires
as she shuffles a little closer to the truth as she sees it
she has it all written out in secret languages
she has books filled with life's coded thoughts as she see's them
barn burners and dare devils grace the cover of her latest creation
self titled to her own romantic name
she is stylized in her own way
so she adores the pencil thin men
with their dashing devil may care good looks

i wrote her a letter yesterday
full of stories from the great highway
full of chipper go getters and the glum go gotten
she is a forever stone on a necklace
she is a moonstone on a bracelet
she is graceful when it counts and
thats more than enough for me

the pencil thin moustache men
come to conquer the all night diners
in the small shoreline towns
but slink away in dawns first light
with stolen smiles and borrowed kisses
that they promise profusely to return tomorrow
but never do
such is the romantic night by her side
such is the wonder-wheel days of our
journey on the great highway

#love   #happy   #smile   #dreadlocks   #great   #highway   #kristen   #go-getter  
Curt A Rivard Sr
Curt A Rivard Sr
Dec 24, 2012

It was a hot summer day and freshly hatched flies
darkened your massive window bay.
Inside your decaying bloated carcass
millions of larvae are eating your flesh
they are eating you slowly away.
Your room had such a rancid stench
The New London Day gave it away
how long you laid all alone on the floor
four days old it was on your piano bench
out your body bag I saw a single fly take flight
in the embalming room that only leads to a big fight.
Rule is, turn out all the lights and open the door
Because they will then take to the air and bother you no more.
For a perfect viewing you must be purged of your infestation.
Step One, hook your nostril to a rubber hose,
Step Two, turn up the pressure so the water flows,
Step Three, push on your chest to break up there home, I call it their nest,
Step Four, Watch them all swim for their life as they exit out the other side of your nose.
I have a fetish for death I need to touch with my bare hand
slowly combing your hair with my fingers strand by strand.
I take out my Sterling Silver Mirror and then place it upon your frigged lips
and then I have to then put on a plastic frown when I see no BREATH!!!!

of my face. her blonde peach fuzz mini moustache tilts left and kisses false worry, char
tread
tread
May 20, 2013

glasses 'you look beautiful'
her teeth are a little yellow, she
brushes in the morning. somehow
they're still a Colgate white. she mouths
Iluvu eyes squint quiet smile arches it's
spine and finger caresses the barely stubble of my face. her blonde peach fuzz mini moustache tilts left and kisses false worry, charisma. she takes
it as insult when I read line about peach
fuzz moustache. obligatory insult shes a
woman, women don't have moustaches
haha
she stretches like a resting cat and
returns to thought as my suicide
hangover crunches into a headache of
blind relief

relief

Light hearted William twirled
his November moustaches
and, half dressed, looked
from the bedroom window
upon the spring weather.

Heigh-ya! sighed he gaily
leaning out to see
up and down the street
where a heavy sunlight
lay beyond some blue shadows.

Into the room he drew
his head again and laughed
to himself quietly
twirling his green moustaches.

Light hearted William twirled
his November moustaches
and, half dressed, looked
from the bedroom window
upon the spring weather.

Heigh-ya! sighed he gaily
leaning out to see
up and down the street
where a heavy sunlight
lay beyond some blue shadows.

Into the room he drew
his head again and laughed
to himself quietly
twirling his green moustaches.

A moustache ,
Lizzi Mote
Lizzi Mote
Apr 13, 2014

Under a sea of flat skies,
eyes ablaze. Rage.
A common same.
Defence of a revolution,
scream.

Photographers are just vehicles.

A moustache ,
a hand gun,
a man clad in green.
“I'm not flat, I am laughing”
Reactionary chic.
A Confrontation.
A throw of the dice.
Please God :
our father, a common name.

Kill the lights.
Save the tank corpse.
A dictator,
“lower your head when you gulp”
A pitiful heart.
No rest for the wicked
in a political game.

Photographers are just vehicles.

A commercial traveller,
a moustache,
a hand gun.
Bastard. Defending
the revolution.
Old , young and new.
“I'm not flat ,
I am laughing.”
God: our father,
please.

Under a sea of flat skies,
where life expires
and lies overwhelm the good,
a game is lost.
The dice are thrown.
All can hear


that  universal sigh,
my name is might have been.

Moustache and beard. The
Terry Collett
Terry Collett
Mar 11, 2015

Your father has paid
Good money for the
Artist. Sit very still,

Deepta, the man needs
You not to fidget, he
Says, placing his hairy

Hands on your shoulder.
Why must women move
So? Is stillness alien to

Your nature? You thought
He was going to laugh or
Smile but he does not; his

Lips disappear into his huge
Moustache and beard. The
Artist moves you to the left

Slightly, his small hands
Moulding you to the position
He requires, his eyes studying

You, dark brown, you notice,
The thin moustache thinly
Grown. Your father stands

Where he can see you. He  
Folds his arms and stands
Stiffly. The artist seems

Nervous, he fiddles with
His charcoal, his fingers as
A dancer warming up before

The dance, his eyes moving
Over you as if his mind has
Already taken you in, has

Swallowed you in a huge
Gulp. Father nods, then rather
Slowly leaves the room, his

Hairy hands behind his back,
His fingers crossed. You
Breathe easy; the artist blows

Out air, his anxiety away, he
Smiles at you. Men often smile
At you, it is their way of

Capturing your image for
Their sleepless nights, for
Their empty lives, replacing

Your beauty for the dullness
And ugliness of their wives.

A GIRL AND THE PORTRAIT PAINTED.
 
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