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It was a cold, wintry December day.
I was at home,
sitting by the fire.
The fire was hot,
but from where I sat,
it felt like a warm blanket.
Suddenly,
my ******* started to lactate,
uncontrollably.
I did not know what was going on.
I lifted up my soaking wet shirt,
and put my hands over my *******,
in an attempt to stop the lactating,
but it did not work.
And then,
it stopped.
I squeezed my *******,
to see if they would lactate again,
but nothing happened.
I went to bed,
hoping this nightmare would be over in the morning.
But it wasn't.
When I woke up,
I went into the bathroom to perform my daily morning activities,
when I realized something on my chest.
A third ******!
I tried to rip it off,
but I couldn't.
Later that day,
at dinner,
I was eating a juicy, tender steak,
when suddenly,
all three of my ******* began to lactate!
I tried to stop them,
for they were lactating all over my steak.
Then, like before,
it stopped.
This proceeded for many days.
Everyday,
I woke up with another ******,
and everyday around six o'clock,
they would all lactate,
until one day,
the unthinkable happened.
I woke up.
I could not move.
I had no legs.
No arms.
I was a giant ******.
"NO!" I screamed.
Then,
as usual,
I began to lactate,
violently,
and then I exploded.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
  Jun 2018 Ehab
Colleen R
The truth was painful, so you buried it
Dug a hole into the earth six feet deep
Nestled it right beside your childhood
Threw some dirt upon its coffin and fashioned a crude cross out of bones and teeth

In death, Truth is just as **** as it was in life
But you feel safe with it out of sight
You loosen the fist you weren’t aware you were making
You tend to the ****** red crescents from where they’re branded into your palm
You say a few words but what words are left when they’re buried below your feet?

You tell yourself it was a kindness
You swear to yourself that it was a means to an end
But there was no justice when you held its life in your hands
No mercy when you buried your fangs in it’s heart

You convince yourself that it was an act of love
“The truth is painful” and “the world is ****”
Without the truth, you believe maybe there’s still some beauty in the world
Can convince yourself that the blood red rose on an unmarked grave is a sign you were right

Six feet under, Reality is weeping.
Ehab Jun 2018
Man and the philosopher's stone
Some wishes are better left unfulfilled
An attachment to life or a trepidation of death
Perhaps it's merely a weakness of faith
The desire to prolong the struggle that is life
Are aeons on earth even worth it?

One more day, one more month, one more year
It is never enough
For man is a greedy creature
He always wants more
Even when it is beyond the realm of the possibility
He hopes for a miracle

The emotional conflict
So gorgeous it is painful
Those electric blue eyes
It's all deception and lies
Yet somehow they ignited unfathomable feelings in his guts
That are slowly turning into an exquisite agony
Man is afraid his love for life is slowly turning into an obsession

Ultimate escape from this worldly life
Away from all the vice and violence
Eternal rest will be indeed so serene, so peaceful
Yet life is so **** beautiful
Call it naivety or lunacy
Man can't help but crave the latter
This is the first proper poem I wrote. Feedback would be appreciated.

— The End —