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  Jul 2015 Hollow
In a perfect world…
Women aren’t ***** at such high rates.
They don’t suffer from debilitating invalidation.
Societal pressures to deliver a baby conceived by ****, nonexistent.

In a perfect world…
Families are carefully planned with the right ingredients.
Women aren’t the only ones getting the **** end of the stick trying to
a better human
than the ones already in the world.
Once that child is grown s/he has three options
become a well-adjusted cog in the clockwork of society
become a criminal that actively tears at the seams of society
or become an unexpected victim to society.

In a perfect world…
Women aren’t brutalized just to satisfy a man’s ego.
Our worth isn’t based on reproducing and rearing children.
We aren’t objectified; cut, chopped and reassembled
like slabs of meat a butcher can trim on a whim.
The v between our knees and the ******* on our chests
aren’t the most coveted features of a feminine figure.
Our brains and intelligence are the commodities, plus they last longer.
We band together in an effort to empower one another.

This isn’t a perfect world we live in though.
Hollow Jul 2015
I bet I could stretch
Like you've never seen before
With the crook of my finger
And a wink, let the games begin

You want to struggle
My little **** toy?

Ah ah ah, let's tie these hands
Behind your back
Don't get any ideas

Obey me, lie on your belly
Crush your head into the pillow
Cringe and squirm, please
Let me just, strap this on

Not listening, hm?
I have other things
Leather, that will leave marks
On your tender, innocent flesh

Let my fingers coil
Make it harder to breathe
Force you down
By a pull of your hair

I'm going to be an animal
And you will be the prey
I will feast on you
I will nibble you

Bite you into submission
Pinch and squeeze
Smack and tease
Say please

I will go on
Long after you thought
To say no, until
All you want is

More, more, more
I will chew through you
I will dominate you

I dare you to struggle
My little **** toy
Hollow Jul 2015
Zoning in
Zoning out
Spacing into
Instinctual altruism
A divided reality
Obliging my death storm cemetery
This ritual madness; so intriguing
It leaves personality to the grasp of ambiguity
Immaterial realm of the fourth scenes unseen
While docile, poisoned by this vial of vile mistrials
I remain a ghost
Mirroring black
Shadowed like a ****** mess
Stop this caress
Fading in
Fading out.
Unseen Realm
  Jul 2015 Hollow
Dave Gledhill
The pen, they say, is mightier,
but is it keener than a knife?
This brittle blade of insolence,
unleashed to lash at life.

'Yeah, innit, Bruv, he got right up in my face,
cos my phone was out in lesson time
and he called me a disgrace.
Like, so, whatever, mate,
I told him where to go,
trying to tell me English,
while I'm textin' my new ***.'

The pen is not mightier,
it is tarnished and obtuse,
a vision of a different age,
wrought blind from its misuse.

Its sapling song of innocence,
split south across the grain
and cast across the classroom,
yanked up and lobbed again.

'Do you get me, Blood?
He was pointing at a seat,
expectin' ME to sit there,
as if it were a treat.
I told him where to stick it
and called him out a clown,
I **** this one-way death pit
as I'm walkin' round and round.'

The pen should still be mighty
and not a strangled stream,
that's crawling up an incline,
like an M. C. Escher dream.

Its muddy banks lie dormant,
both acorn and an oak.

'Cut that ****, you KEENO,
let's ******* for a smoke.'
Hollow Jul 2015
She had an option now
Once a goal, fed until wings spread until flight took until she lost the town
Until shot down
She had an option now, a full fledged choice, all teeth and silence
In the wake of her indecision grew envy, which looks like a giant mosquito, if you believe in giants

Before we go towards sore mode and mope so hopelessly over "wrote poetry", let us take time to give the mosquito a little appreciation
Unlike choice, envy is a toothless *******, and instead pokes and prods and leaves an undesirable little welt
But like choice, envy hovers

She slept on cardboard that night
That night in particular was rather dreary, grey and wet
Kicked out of her home, alone so closed and prone to no hope
She dove to floor and groped dope to erode her dome


She hit that stash and sat back happy in mad hat fantasies
Mad hat had-to-be's and lap dance reveries she tapped untapped man, she gagged for bags and haggled deep

Back then, she was a pariah,
She floated and she owned it, turned around and wrote it and low and behold she sold it, and now she's bold poet

Funny how the world wants you when you don't need it
Funny how a girl flaunts too, for the temporary feeling

We swat bugs who want a fix

But when they're butterflies...

They flutter by
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