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Styles  Jan 2018
Quicky
Styles Jan 2018
One sinister thought
An angels grin
lips brush against her neck
Tears run down her chin
Warm breath on her skin
His whispers fill her ear
Her body listening in
her fingernails dig deep
sharp scratches, pierce his skin
moans escaping her mouth, wet lips against bare skin
Juices flowing sensations set in
As his deep ****** cave her world in
Katelyn Snow Nov 2012
American Haiku (6-6-6)
--A creation of my Brother, "Phoenix"--

I linger in your world.
Long enough to see it...
That love is not a hoax.
Nae Nov 2013
“Nicole Brunelli, the first small town journalist receiving...” - no - “...the best journalist of Ludlow receiving the Pulitzer Prize! She is ambitious, determinated, fearless, unstoppable and this couldn’t be possible if she wasn’t like this otherwise she would never had revealed the macabre events of Bethlem Royal Hospital! Aaaaaaah”.
My name is Nicole Brunelli I’m 28 years old and I’m a journalist. My childhood wasn’t easy but what childhood was? My mom died when she gave me birth, and my dad... lo... my dad loved me too much until my 16 years old. By then I was starting college and I went to live with a friend of mine, we moved to  Glasgow and we graduated together. We had the time of our life and I ended up marrying him, a few years later we moved to a small town called Ludlow, we had our precious first child and I became an unknown journalist. But now everything changed, this is what I was meant to do.
I research about Bethlem Asylum and some archive stuff just doesn’t make sense, death dates, nonexistent patients, witnesses like one man who lived in the area of the hospital attested to the “cryings, screechings, roarings, brawlings, shaking of chains, swearings, frettings, and chaffings to be heard from the outside.” and he also said something about the managers of the facility that were known as Keepers, and were seemingly as frightening as they sound.  One such Keeper, Helkiah Crooke, a member of the medical department of the royal household, took over, ousting the former for being “unskillful in the practice of medicine.” It could be assumed that he would then handle the medical inattentions to the patients, but no records were ever made of any medical needs of the patients. He himself referred to the patients as “the poore” or “prisoners”. Something is not right I feel it and that is why I’m going there to scrutinize, and due to this I’m going to be the first and the best small town journalist receiving a Pulitzer.
My husband doesn’t really agree with this, but he knows how I am, he knows I’ll do everything for my Pulitzer, and to make him and our baby proud of me...
The time has come, this is it. My future is about to change, I am here now, after a bus ride to Bethlem that **** 3 hours and 45 minutes, I am here.
They refused to receive me! They don’t let me in! They don’t let me in and they don’t give me any information about their procedure on patients or anything! No, no, no, no. I gotta find another way to get in.  I have to. I gotta find another way in. I’ve got to do this! I don’t know what to do, I was so close, so ******* close! I can’t give up, I can’t! I’ve got to do this! This is what I was meant to do!

One night passed and I was still there waiting for them to let me in until the night watch, where a nurse thought I was one of them trying to run, or at least that was what she wanted me think. For instants I thought “This is my chance! This is it” until I realised that once I get in, the difficult part is to figure how to get out.
Three days passed and I realised what they were doing there...people coming in aisle F as sanes or insanes and two days later coming out as vegetables or dead... They were using patients, human beings, and most of them weren’t even crazy at least when they got there, and they were using them as cavies for their experiences.
Of course, who would believe in crazy people?
After the seventh day as a patient in the Asylum I had earned the right to a guided tour to aisle D... where they give you shock therapy. Apparently I’m a messy patient, I talk to much and I refused to take some pills, so they sent me to see Mr. Cleymoore, the asylum shrink so he could diagnose me; he said that I would never see my family again, that I would never see my husband or my baby again, he said he knew all about me, and he wanted me to sign myself in the asylum but I refused to do that...So they faked my death. In my plug diagnosis my name was no longer Nicole Brunelli, now I was Lisa Coventry and I was diagnosed with hidden schizophrenia and double personality disorder, caused by the fire that killed my family when I was 16 years old.
But how would they know all of this? My family, my past, my whole life?! It doesn’t make any sense!
Three months passed and I had a tour to aisle D every week. This place was crazy, it makes me think who are the insane people here. The way they treated people! The way the “disturbed” were chained up to walls and posts like dogs. They slept on beds of straw only as the water supply did not allow for washing of linens. The way the rooms had exposed windows, leaving the patients in damp conditions at the mercy of all weather and utter darkness at night. The hospital itself was actually noted as “a crazy carcass with no wall still vertical,” offering only leaking, caved in roofs, uneven floors and buckling walls.
Under Crooke’s Keeping, the residents were not only filthy and unclothed, but malnourished to the point of starvation using a “lowering diet,” of intentionally slim portions of plain food only twice a day. It was meant to deplete and purge the madness out of the victims, while helping to conserve money. 
 There were no fruit or vegetables to be given. Mostly bread, meat, oatmeal, butter, cheese and plenty of beer was the menu. While all of this is terrible, the true horror was in the moneymaking scheme that kept it running at all. Originally, the hospital was open to the public in hopes that food would be brought to the inmates from the community. Quickly, money was charged, creating a sideshow where the public was invited to watch patients displayed in cages, laugh at them as they banged their heads repeatedly on the walls, and even to poke them with sticks and throw things at them.
 Luckly I made a friend there, Mike Spencer was his name, he was the male nurse who used to do the night watches, he used to stay all night with me just talking and making promises; he knew I wasn’t crazy and that actualy helped me keeping me sane, at least for a while.
 Six months passed and I wasn’t the same.
They are coming, they are coming...they are coming for me...they are coming for Lisa.
 It’s cold, the cold tastes like blue. - Ahah - it tastes like blue! - Ahah...It’s cold... they are coming for Lisa, Lisa doesn’t want to go with them...
 She said that she’ll keep me safe, she said she would take care of Lisa. Lisa is hearing them, They are coming! Lisa doesn’t want to go, no, no, no, NO.
 She said they wouldn’t hurt me. YOU SAID THEY WOULDN’T HURT ME! They, gave me shocks again, they gave Lisa shocks.
 It’s not my fault. They know. They know. They must know why am I here if they don’t know? It’s not my fault she made me do it! She said it was the best thing! Now they can’t have him. Now he’s safe. My unborned baby is safe. They can’t have him now.
 She said she would protect me...She said she would protect Lisa. Shut the voices down! Shut the voices! She’s saying bad things. Lisa doesn’t like what she’s saying. She keeps telling me - “ You killed your mother when she gave you birth! it’s your fault that daddy loved you and used you to replace her! You know you liked when he used to play with you and love you. Everybody knows he used to did it what people didn’t knew was that you liked it! you wanted more! You know he only did it because you let him! And you certainly know who started the fire who killed him...” - SHUT UP! We need to shut the voices down! We need to shut the voices! shut...shut the voices...shut the... shut the voices down... shut the voices down... shut... shut the... shut the voices...
 She said Mike promised. She said Mike promised Lisa to take me out of here... Mike promised.
Two more months passed and I was completly insane due the shock therapy, but Mike kept his promise and he took me out of there, in the middle of the night he gave me a coat and he drove me to South Hampton seaport, he gave me the ticket and said that that was the further he could go. Along with the ticket he also gave me his lucky neckless and told me he bought me a ticket to Cuba so I could be free. I left a friend in that seaport a really good friend but I needed to go I couldn’t go back to that place.
 I had no lugagge, no shoes, nothing, just a coat, a neckless and a ticket to freedom.
 I had to ****** adapt to the situation and try to go unnoticed and not to attract to many attention, so I went to my cabine and stayed there until the end of the cruise for the maximum I could.
Rickie Louis  Sep 2011
Dandelion
Rickie Louis Sep 2011
I could tell you of a story, of this flower that I saw.
Growing in a little crack, this flower had it all.
It's beauty got me thinking, how ****** we forget.
It isn't where we come from, it's that we never quit.
The struggles that this flower faced, no quiver nor a fall.
It rose above the chances,
through this crack that was so small.
The only will was life, and the chance that it may "be".
Exist in ways intended, and truly live as free.
This dandelions beauty, gives me the strength to know,
content with where I'm rooted, 
 and will to always grow.
Gwuts on gwanilliagax
Ready hot gwip

Trill on the vibrant note gabeeboh
What a thril it is to be in nice gazeebo
What a punk that doused on the free zobe
What punctillious panagax that frigged all the wets out
And when the trip to the sausage make didnt pull down alaz
Alaz, I am the wet tug.
Alaz, the sprig of wheat ***** taint.

Didn't you say you loved me?
Well, the bruts on the wagon sauce now
Didn't me have a big one, tug one, sauce one?
Well elemayo gwit gwits gwit gwits gwit gwit.....gwit

Embryo collecting on the branch of a saggy
My baggy be ripped, dripped all the can out
Me step on a puddle, the wet one, the biggy
My pets on the leg, rub, all on it sticky, how ******
He chugs out a wet belch and creams on the gricky
How quaint is his fat bristle comb, of his **** I am assured
This great honkulous tank sub that brits on my dimbo,in limbo my ship
It greats on the grates treat me to a sub snack ship ***** ***** factory get e
Tag me on your webpage, then **** me silly
the disappeared Jan 2013
our skyline is hazed
and our system a maze
the streets are lined with
blood
and all you see is mud

you, political giants
billionaires in chairs
pretending like you care
when all you do is claim its "fair"
your lying to the poor
as they die on their kitchen floors

you are not above humanity
even in your mighty vacation house its insanity
who are you to say
that you are to pave the way:
you claim democracy
we see hippocracy

you cheat the poor
to get rich more
is it so hard for empathy
you arn't charged with a felony

your racism defines you
yet somehow they defy you
maybe as you bomb their land
and say you are here to save their band

look here, ******, can't you see
nothing is simply what i seems to be
how can you see fault in
when you can't even see past the color of skin
i wrote this about american foreign policy, domestic policy, and how racism and power drives the government. i am unhappy with all parties, all processes, and all the various hippocracies america offers the world, as america continues to declare itself as the world savior, with no real justification in doing so besides under gunpoint of nuclear weapons.
Kitty Prr  Sep 2013
Divine
Kitty Prr Sep 2013
*** is a divine act.
Done right, it is beautiful and wondrous.

The intimacy between two people.
Knowing each other so fully.

Exploring every detail of each others bodies.
Enjoying each others  bodies.

Giving yourself completely to each other.
Receiving and giving pure pleasure.

Whether it's long and slow
With plenty of foreplay.

Or an intense ******
Full of fun and excitement.

*** is sensual
Beautiful
Fun
Intense.

*** makes me happy
(It's scientific - endorphins)

Human contact is beautiful.
Skin on skin.

Touch... Kiss... Stroke... Lick
Wrapped around each other.
One inside the other.

And the ******
The only thing powerful enough to stop the divine act of ***.
Neha shimoga  Mar 2017
~ Misery ~
Neha shimoga Mar 2017
Ephemeral** euphoria
and abandoned memories.
These stains on my paper will
explain a lot more than my
poems ever will.
Left alone in the midst of this
troubled mind where once everything
swayed to the rhythm of my heart beat.
The tear sits at the corner of the eye wanting to roll down the cheek.
But how menacing would it be
if it rolled down ? I would be called a weak
hearted sensitive human.
Understanding my poor heart's misery isn't something that I could accomplish over the years.
Knives in my back and unexplained reasons for departure have nearly suffocated my existence.
How easy is it for somebody to just leave you behind after building up your castle of dreams brick by brick? How easy is  it for your own people to bail on you? Living in uncertainties I have always learnt to sacrifice my happiness thinking that something better would come along. But all that comes along is disappointment. A sense of satisfaction is what I am lacking at this point and I don't know if my heart would ever be satisfied after all that it has been through. My life's like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle where pieces simply don't seem to fit. Why is it that the blame is always on me for everything I do ? Yes, I get attached ******. Yes, my heart falls too hard. Yes, my heart feels too much. Yes, I am emotional. It's not something in my hands. Stop asking me to change myself. There's nothing wrong with having a deep heart. There will be times when the pain would be immense but you have to live through it. Betrayals will find their way through and happiness will be taken away.
But you have to face it.
I honestly don't know how to create my own happiness because I tend to find my happiness in others. But nobody remains constant. People leave. People change. Some bring in delectation and some bring in agony and it depends on us how we take it. We have to learn to let few things go. I still haven't reached that stage or maybe that maturity where I'll be able to accept things and learn to adjust. But I surely know everything heals. The cuts heal but the scars remain which remind me of the battles I have been in and tell me how strong I am to embrace the pain and **** my misery.
It's okay not to be okay. Don't ever apologize for the very individual you are. All that is needed is a little bit of positivity. A little hope that helps you hold on.
The best is yet to come. :')

Pure feelings.
The piller and the doughnut, two treacheous thingies. Steering through the ooze of the sugar deep. Do me ****** business on the veins of malicious music.
Come unto these brown earth,
trading temple secrets and sweet lies.
Sea serpents hourly weeps upon dastardly islands.
Three nights you came,
with such nuptial purpose and local gabbage.
Thine reluctance retire not.
Pardon shall you draw from the grand liquor that hath reached your lips.
I shall not fear clapping oracles.
This is strange Romans 13 vs.13 maze men trod.
Nature shall be shortly single for particular accidents.
Beyound a common joy and glad Father,
i button-press this beauteous acquaintance.
This..
.the coup de grace
The kiss my *** goodbye.
And thus I die to lay among the graves.

Is is not true that Jesus saves?
Am I forever bound to the underground?
Does it really sound..
..as if I care?

So **** me if you will..
..and fill me with a shot of lead.
I have fed too often on the bones..
..of this day and of yesterday..
..and am ready now to lay and sleep.

Let me still my dreams
Spill my pen of ink.
Link into the great unknown.
Loan me a cloak
Let me soak in formaldehyde..
..these are the death that we have spied upon.

The great one comes
I hear the approach..
..the sounds of drums rupture my ears.
I am fearful of those long..long years and yet..
..how ****** I forget the life..and these fears are replaced..
As I race into another dawn.
Where I am reborn.

Once more I die
To wake and see another daybreak
One more blue sky
And wonder why my dreams are always..
..the same.
i like wool, and tidying it,
notice the flecks and textures,
sneezing once again at the mohair,
with no news, no more
of sahara dust, move on

to admire couture of the linen dress,
the bias cut, and tucking, quite a feat

in these days of mass produced.

the duchess wore a coat like no other,
my daughter says it makes no sense
these days, when all others just
grab clothes ******, and get to work.

we reckon her mother in law’s brooch
will be sewn on preventing loss.

we all experience this in some way,
loss that is, not the queen’s jewellery.

i like a working day

sbm.
Anton Kooistra Mar 2016
good enough kramer talks
surrender thought volvo maniac
sniffing sound righteous ******
empty flask google doppio's

maternal cup dummy brand
fenix ghetto spy force
renovate ****** wall mart
resonance water croquet bug

material overture kiss A4-paper
rover many people bag
shut fine coffee power
justice cloth measly rent

communal broth pixel time
went minimum swag beautify
agenda question sweet march
improvement mayhem make swivel

waste croneys quiet myriad
composition tommy beat hometeam
cement mother merit fence
wanton founding four swing

jetfuel matchless assignment queen
stansford mediocre serious cat
innuendo phone insult ball
mental song quenching treat

indiginous mate patron verily
putrid how moat minimum
meaning penitentiary sliver anything
black flow rivet leech

****** magazine prada hand
colony policy randy coinage
sovereign christ kingdoms manly
mentions quit quill before
Cold writing and randomizing
kirk Apr 2019
Way back in my younger days, I joined the male voice choir
I was unaware of lurking gents, or **** men for hire
Praying on the innocent, might invoke brimstone and fire
Old and dark back passage ways, are not what I desire

There were boys and there were men, all singing at Saint Mary's
What I didn't realise is, ****** orientation sometimes varies
Just how many church goers, are gay high flying fairies
I didn't know I was amongst, a bunch of Julian Clary's

I may not be religious, I only came along to sing
And participate in ceremonies, and to hear the church bells ring
Gay gentleman I did not expect, I did not suspect a thing
Particularly the disgusting type, that want to slip you Black Pudding

I like a nice hot chocolate, but your type I do not search
Should you be in a religious place, like Saint Mary's church ?
Ogling all the younger boys, sat behind them on your perch
Your singing is a false front, because your just on the lurch

It creeps me out to even think, your in a house of god
The only thing your worshiping, is young arses to sod
Underage *** is blasphemy, but you don't think that is od
Your willing to commit sinful acts, to satisfy your stinking rod

Innocence gives you an excuse, and your sense to stalk and pray
You invited me for a coffee, I didn't realise you were gay
I saw you in White Lion Walk, and you lead my astray
What happened to the coffee shop, cos it wasn't far away

I ended up at your flat, not knowing you were bent
And you fancied a piece of ****, from an underaged pure gent
Because I like my coffee strong, didn't mean I was for rent
You came out in a dressing gown, and asked "are you confident"

I wasn't sure on what you meant, I know I was naive
You had nothing on except your gown,  and something up your sleeve
My comfort zone was compromised, and I wanted bad to leave
I'm not into male on male, it makes me want to heave

Could I have read the signs wrong, are you just being camp
Maybe your just friendly, and your don't want to clasp and clamp
Or stretch any of my sockets, or plug in your black lamp
It could be pretty dangerous, if your making dry things damp

The conversation took an unusual turn, I wish it was just babble
Mixing with the gay crowd, is not my kind of rabble
When I said "no" you then asked, "well surely don't you dabble"
I refuse to play your games, because your hardly into scrabble

I had to go once I knew, you was just a queer
You wanted to **** my ****, and take me up the rear
This is what I realised, so I left out of fear
Disappointed you may have been, but it's not the way I steer

You earned the name Black Dicky, it is just what you deserve
For you are so perverted, and By gum you've got a nerve
I am just a straight guy, I wont go the way you curve
The trouble is you try to persuade, the innocent to serve

I saw you some time later, in a toilet at the end
Peering over cubicles, but that's not the way I bend
Cottaging in public loos, well it is a gay mans trend
Walking out you even said, "I thought you was my friend"

Be careful in the White Lion Walk, the situation may turn sticky
A Black Man maybe waiting there, who isn't all that picky
Hanging around Saint Mary's church, he might try and grab a ******
Remember to tell this gentleman, "Please Go Away Black Dicky"
Based on actual events that took place in Banbury Oxfordshire

This is dedicated to Charlotte who suggested I write this poem

— The End —