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Why do lovers chant - forever,
don't they realize passions fade,
that arteries so surely sever
when gifts of ****** hearts are made
and dullness claims the escapade
and eyes begin the soft peruse...
So much goes into getting laid.
Why let romantic fluff abuse...

For dogs, a sniff and stuff suffice.
Black widows, yeah, we're all aware.
And rabbits have it worked out nice;
while porcupines must pork with care...
Why make a song of an affair
with final notes struck to bemuse,
your genitalia set to snare...
Why let romantic fluff abuse...

Why let romantic fluff abuse...
I'm not attacking marriage, no!
So much is gained when two minds choose
to plant that seed, so much can grow,
so much to share and learn and know,
that strengthens our society,
like those basics of propriety
that vilify variety.

I'm not attacking marriage, no!
No better view than from this web;
so, let those dogs put on their show.
A bunny's stamina must ebb.
A rabbit's lusting thirst must ebb!
Oh god, I'd risk a scrotal quill
for a chance to climb different hill
and dance until I've had my fill.
Hello, thank you for reading. I'm new here.
 Apr 2016 Samuel Hesed
ren
4.10.16
 Apr 2016 Samuel Hesed
ren
You are as gentle as a Sunday morning breeze
You are as strong as an April rainstorm
You can unfold the fears that live in your mind
Just as you've unfolded mine
this poem ***** and all my poems ****. enjoy
Where was you when I fell , how cliche of a statement to tell,
no! Where was you ? Not here aparently,
seems like yesturday, another cliche,
**** it! I can rhyme all day.
I just need to know whats the point of money?
I GET IT, I loose it, i spend it , I abuse it.
I dont want it but I need it, Is money air?
Cos I dont wanna breathe Im stressed from the atmosphere making  me share.
I rather be ghost watch time fly by , maybe write a book to tell about my times travel,
about love from afar, how its pure but scared,
Have it published  then be awarded rubish, cos there no success or achievement when you see the half cup cruisin the highway and you decide to *** in it.  
LIFE How its concieved , how I precieve it ? IS newspaper Id keep under table to stop wobbling.
Am I rude, yeah, and unconventional so?
Im used to the self sabotage and abuse as a noose to climb up different challenges just to call a truce.



By EMMANUEL jv Hernandez
Aka Linguist musician
I don't want to be a mother and have my children running their small petite hands over my scars and reminding me of the past, running their hands over them and asking what happened, running their hands over them and going mummy ouchies it will break my heart.....
She screamed until her lungs were
Bleeding. Her eyes dry and ******
Her frail bones cracked
And her heavy heart
Sank.
A pebble in her pool of tears
Shallow still for
The sun takes the bulk
While a small sadness
Lingers.
And she dreamed of a
Better place
Where the skies were
Clear and the air
Was still.
But no joy
No happiness or hope
Could stop her
Hurricane.
I glanced at you -
an expression of calmness.
You hold your alcohol well.
You hold yourself better.
Art holds me together,
but it's all a waste.
Paint left to crack,
sxx, expended energy,
words that will fade,
alcohol pxssxd away.
It's all a fxckxng waste.
A taste of escape short-lived.
Some hands were made for rings,
others to wave goodbye.
Love is art of a devilish kind.
Survival of the fittest became
a game of Russian roulette
in the players hands.
And we play forgetting that the bureaucrats
are masters of counting cards.
The barrels will fire either way.
Sobriety will not save you
and wine will deceive you.
It's best to leave them for the masters
and play your hand anyway.
“wrong number” came from a familiar voice,
On the other end of the phone before,
Hanging up.

“wrong number” the voice being very familiar,
It rings over and over in my head,
Who could it be.?

“wrong number”
“wrong number”
“wrong number”

…..

I called her the other day, I pretended it was the wrong number
I just wanted to hear her voice one last time,
I needed to hear her voice.
“hello?” her voice still
Clear in my mind,
The last persons voice I wanted to hear,
Before my car was wrapped around a tree.
 Apr 2016 Samuel Hesed
Ana S
Sleep
 Apr 2016 Samuel Hesed
Ana S
Sleep tight little angel.
Sleep tight my sweet nightingale.
Let the dark cast over you.
Let your body decide what to do.
Curled up and asleep.
Dry your tears that you no longer weep.
Stay strong my young love.
Don't cry my white dove.
I know it's hard.
I know I cut my wrists with a shard.
Shard from the mirror I looked into.
I am insecure.
Never really here.
I'm too fat.
I scratch my skin until I scream stop doing that.
Dried blood lines my wrists.
All my friends ask why I wear long sleeves.
Maybe someday they will see.
Red lines.
Ever so fine.
Tears in my eyes.
Tears as my soul cries.
Yes people love me.
Something I can barely see.
Her touch is healing.
The only good feeling.
But until then I cry.
And die inside.
A dead soul
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