Don't, don't, don't
Dart.
You Fuck my,
Imploding heart.

I know a lot of people on this site are against certain types of writing's so I'm just gonna warn you before you scroll, this is dirty. Not trying to offend anyone, but these are the thoughts of an extremely sexual being (me). I'm a very complex individual and have many sides. I'm actually having to pursue another site, cause it's so plain here. Someone said to me in a message, "I'm tired of reading about love and nature" haha, me to. Let's get some diversity going people!

















I'm gonna enforce orgasm's like it's the law
Lets get a lil raw
Marks you left on my back lookin' like I got scratched by a tiger paw,

We can go for a ride and I'll show you somethin' I been writing to this new beat
You get impressed and feel chills all the way down to ya feet
Shortly after that I can see
Me and you gettin' down on the bench seat

Of my '49 chevy truck , we anything, but typical and that's just how we like to fuck
Runnin' amuck in a world full of blind luck

My biggest turn on is the juices I get you to leak
I'm gonna get my burn on and turn up the heat
When I'm done you'll barely be able to speak
Your gonna need to recover baby, just go straight to
sleep

-J.A.M

Cold dead steely eyes,
Pot bellied fuck faced,
Hairy belly button,
Riding her as she screams.

Dirty sock gags,
Hands tight on her throat,
Grabbing breasts as she fights,
Scratching into my eyes,

Elastic hands ties,
Forcing her legs apart,
Smashing into her thighs,
And slapping her,

Spit into her face,
Kissing salty tears from her face,
Eyes like a dear in headlights,
Swollen puffy rag doll eyes,

Through with fucking your hips,
I force it down her throat,
Make you choke in forceful sips,
Left you crying for you daddy.

This was my love to her :(

lust lost
lust found. in the corner of your pocket. the shadowy corner hidden in the crook of it.
right in the crook of it.
laser beams traveling across these vast lands and burning little paths
little paths in the deadly mountains.
who has disappeared here?
who was never remembered in these parts?

lost your luster
you've lost it, honey. it doesn't become you anymore.
those black coarse fabrics ain't gonna hide your shame anymore.
fuck off you misogynist pig. you want some of this/?
you want some of this prime pussy?
bet you never had any the same as this.
i'd sooner be clawed apart by those wolves in
those dark woods
than give you a taste.
run along, little lamby.

some days i just can't sit still
heavy chest
the thoughts are amplified
can you
hear
them, sugar/./

sound check.k.kkkk

seems good enough.
so let's start this motherfucking show.
oh, the actress drank herself into a stupor? too bad. the show
must
go
on.

Found this on the Internet. Something I thought you might say.

"You aren’t my friend. Despite what you may have thought, the world does not revolve around you. Your actions are so fucked up I don’t even feel a loss anymore. Frankly, I don’t know why I ever did. Fuck you very much."

You will never understand how much I hurt and hurt myself. You gave that connection up when you walked away. I remember making you laugh just days after you left. That easy air we shared. It doesn't just go away. Maybe you were unhappy but that wasn't because of me. You made a choice way before you decided to leave. I was never the angry type and yes I made mistakes. I've never been through a divorce before. I'm bound to make mistakes. I've ignored some good advice and my parents just want me to move on. I want to grieve. Just let me grieve!!! I miss her, and I don't care if she knows. I don't care if she gets some sort of satisfaction knowing that I'm falling apart because she left. She knows I loved her, that I would have done anything for her. That I would do anything now. I told her often, I tried to show in my own way. I just happen to try to buy the ones I love. It doesn't matter now she's gone. This wasn't some story of two people growing apart. Despite how she might view it. This was her needing more then I could give her. I just have to love her enough to let her move on. When every ounce of your body loves someone and they're just willing to move on it feels like an attack and anger is every mans first response. When someone else wasn't writing your words you were very kind. I miss that kindness. I wasn't ready to hear that your already thinking about other guys and I'm sorry I attacked. I knew exactly what words would hurt the most just like you did too. I won't let you pass the torch to your parents though. I can just as easily ignore them like you ignore me.


she won in the end. I only talk to her dad now. I do this because one day I hope again to be friends.

Walking down the left hand footpath, a dry heavy dusk beginning in the midst of a blasting summer.
The buildings are an adobe kind of thatch, but modern, with some big square four storey clunkers amongst them. I’m near the edge of the inner city, it is opening out into a smoother, more human kind of chaos. The people are moving with a little more freedom. With a bag-snatch-on-bicycle kind of flow.
  I have a Chinese-made ak47 in my hands with a wooden stock. I don’t know what to do with it; I slide it under my long coat, wherever either of these came from.
  I am temperate and comfortable, maybe the sky is a little bluer now and the colours are darkening. Carefully drifting along.
  Feeling currents of deep panic, energized in the pavement, beneath the tread of my steps. This is a land ready, silently waiting for its return to birth and I don’t know what the fuck to do.
  An atm is across the road, one person attending it, one person attending them. I sense the inner city sort of chaos and I don’t know what the fuck, to do. I check the ak and tuck my chin down, keep walking. I pass the silent mugging, fearful, feeling weak, trying not to have seen a thing. But I did see, and the mugger had an ak, folded into his coat.
  The town is breaking up, smaller roads. Sandy houses now grey blue, some high walls, huts, caravans, some quarter acres of settled dust with some piles of smashed shopping trolleys and banana boxes and even more people. It’s cooling now, they’re moving more quickly, crossing in front of me either with pensive glances or staring straight ahead and accelerating, breaking into a run with powerlust in their eyes, reaching into their jackets..    
  Something’s happening. I meet with scared eyes and share half motions and half sentences. Loosely gathering, still moving as if not connected, happenstancing across each other’s paths. Backs turning away, looking outward, turning in, milling. Falling to the left or to the right of unity, water molecules with aks, sensing danger, nondescript, avoiding detection. Waves of sprinters fly through us and fleet away, through and around us and the huts and houses, over the walls and yes, into the night.
  Mobs. In wider land, sprinting through it with a kind of purity and an unfathomable but absolute purpose. Forming swelling and closing braids of curved laser beams in their paths through the terrain as I see them for a moment from a balloon, up in the cool sky.    
  Nothing solved, night falls and sleep comes cramped in a caravan. A tiny bastion of nothing much whatsoever with nothing known and nothing discussed, surrounded by flowing, energizing swarms.
  It is a blinding, bright morning. The caravan is a little in the distance, six or seven sprinters are in front of and around me. They stare at me with intent, waiting. I could take three, I wish, I want to think. But they’d still catch me, wear me down, turn me. I put the ak in my mouth. No blame. And yet after the shot, the first shot I have fired with the thing, nothing ends. The bullet has lifted out the back of my skull; there is a deaf searing heat above my nape. My eyelids are weighted but not closed. The sprinters are still standing around, staring. There is a rich Rothko black above ruby and I wait. An electric surge of hallucinogenic twisted warmth bolts and bonds directly to my groin as I observe the ruby Rothko. It is ridiculous and I wait. I always knew these silly, stupid things. Stumbling over rose bushes and cracking my head on a cool concrete path. Telling lies and staring at stars

1. Grumble
   
   Of pugs. Or old men. Correlates to the grouping
   of wrinkles: smile lines (down) whiskers (up). Synonymous to a gaggle of geese. Or women.
   A grumbleman steps on the Pug's tail
   and a passing girl hears
   a crack, yelp, fuck. She turns to help
   but the grumbleman is gone and the pug
   with him. She wonders why her neighbor's car
   is still at her Mom's house? Why her Mom
   wants to be called Veronica not Mary. One night she dreamed Veronica dancing on their roof
   in the rain holding tight to an old red picture whispering to a woman on the lawn dancing
   dry in white. She tried to call out to Veronica
   she saw her slipping, but when she touched her lips
   She felt them sewn shut with coarse, wet thread. Veronica turned and flew to her, to the window, grabbing her hands forcing fingers to feel
   the brail graven into her Mother's giggling teeth that read, Don't look, your father will be bleeding soon. She awoke and her window was bound
   in greased black leather. The floor ashen. Her lips still sewn
   shut.
   
   Anne stood,
   picked out her fathers bones
   Veronica had sewn into her
   pillowcase
   and
   she
   danced.

i've always been a fan of clichés in movies
because it gives me hope
that yeah,
someday
i might end up

okay

and
right now
the breathing's too hard
but most of all
the walking view
is so twirly swirly
hands grasping
feet turning
like a one person waltz
in the best ballroom

but hey,
i say
fuck it who cares
the alcohol's too far
mentally and metaphorically
[drink to that]
but i grab for the bottle anyways
and tip back a little
how it burns and cools
how it sears
how it kills
but i still won't know how it feels

baby, i'm empty and i'm cold
(maybe a sweater will fix that)
but i don't care
in fact, it's pretty nice
to know that something urges you
to go and lie down
curl up
punch a pillow
something that tells you
"why not
just go
kill yourself"

i guess this ballroom dance
just never ends
what a shame
because i really wanted to get home tonight

oh, this isn't a pretty cliché
more like a twisted fairy tale
darling,
won't you take my hand
and come home with me
because i could really use some company
and i might just die
if you don't
i might find you again
because then maybe
i can be
okay

but baby,
i'm long
gone
twice over

[and they all lived happily ever after]