My hands are tied behind my back
you love this helpless look,
my mouth so open wide for you
to take your deepest ******.

Yet my tongue is free to torture still
so you can but suffer of it,
it curls itself around you so
while forcing me to take it.

I look up and watch you writhing wild
and bite so gently harder.
I make your hand twist in my hair
and ****** a little deeper.

Your use of me this perfect way
says that you control me.
But can you stop right now my love?
In that there seems a doubting.

So where does the root of torture lie
with you or with your slave?
For I am here and tied so tight
but you can never leave.

***
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2017

where are the bonds you used to use
upon me who was so willing
do you tie another now
and is she just as thrilling?…

I miss the ropes that were my own
They lie here still beneath my bed
Perhaps you will return one day
And tie me once again

There has been no other since
You were too good at what you did
Such love comes by but once
To share a life that is now dead

I reach and toy with them sometimes
Sweet memories of what was
Of nights of perfect loving wild
to rekindle thoughts of us

But they are to be no more I fear
Despite my wanting so
So I must lie and shed a tear
For all we used to know.

**
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses 2016

Coughing like a cold start
Wheezing like a bag
Spitting through the back door
Have another ***
Doing the dying thing

Filling up an ash-tray
Feeding a fat face
Drinking cans of lager
Getting in a state
Doing the dying thing

Reading ****** papers
**** and bingo cards
Have another lager
Another pound of lard
Doing the dying thing

Sitting watching game shows
Rattling paper bags
Looking bored and farting
How the sofa sags
Doing the dying thing

Working for a *******
For very little pay
Yes boss and no boss
For eight hours a day
Doing the dying thing

Safely empty headed
Dull of thought and eye
Ignorant and vacant
There are many ways to die
Doing the dying thing

                                       By Phil Roberts

when i say i am tired
i am tired of explaining why my head is so full of thoughts that eat my heart from the inside out

when i say i am tired
i am tired of you asking me to just "snap out of it", i am dying on the inside and i do not know how else i can phrase it for you to understand

when i say i am tired
i am tired of the nightmares that make me feel like i have not slept at all, i am tired for screaming for help inside my head

when i say i am tired
i am tired of trying to fight a battle that i will never win, maybe this is how it all ends

when i say i am tired,
do not keep asking. just hold me and tell me i will be alright
when i do not believe you,
let me go.