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Yenson Aug 2018
Commissar Dumbrov of The Red Republican Army at his desk

Grego, Grego , what is happening with the Regal in the Gulag
Is he mad yet, has he hanged himself and committed suicide

No Commissar, he is writing poetry and growing fat like a pig

Are you crazy, this is a ****** Revolution, not ******* poetry class
Did you not put him through the program.

We did Commissar, we hounded and tormented him, we persuaded his wife to break his heart, we fully destroyed his career, we isolated him, we ruined him financially, we made the proletariat hate him,
we taunted him and provoked him everywhere, we scandalized his name and reputation, we bugged him, we oppressed him, we bullied him, we made him friendless, we invaded his privacy, we mocked him and depressed him, we tried to confuse him, we mix him up. we harassed him with noise, we've terrorize him we've done everything and more. he has not been with a woman for 20 years.

AND HE'S WRITING POETRY, what a pack of ******* fools you are, that's the trouble with you ****** Proletariat, you have no brains, must be all the ****** gruel you lot eat, your ******* brains didn't develop properly, all you ******* know is how to be ***** and violent, any wonder these Elitists see you as nothing but animals. that great Leader of the Revolution wrote, I forget his name now, he wrote that the best and only way to deal with these Elitists is to attack their minds, **** up their ****** brains, make them paranoid and fearful. drive them crazy, turn them into jabba labba locos, dribbling at the mouth locos crazy,

We tried Commissar, we did all the things to make this happen, we spent a lot of time and effort on this, we used all the grape-vines and contacts we have, we even threw the Kitchen sink at him. So far, nothing.

You threw the ******* Kitchen sink at him, what's that for, the Kitchen sink belongs to the State, its not meant to be thrown at ******* Elitist Dissidents.

Its a manner of speech, Commissar.

Now you are a Comedian, are you, a ******* Revolution is going on, we are creating a Classless Society and Equality for all and you are making stupid jokes!

No Commissar, I mean we utilized all resources so far, we have continually harassed him, we have created so much disappointments, betrayals, let-downs, frustrations for him, but he still remains calm, stoical, composed, dignified, erudite and sane.
maybe its true that these people are a different breed. Its frustrating for us and quite honestly, embarrassing!.

Shut up, are you saying he's some sort of Regal Rasputin, even that ****** one, we got in the end, now you're saying this one is bullet-proof. Have you tried Advanced Slander, spread the nastiest rumors about him. So bad to make him take his own life. Who was it that said,  “Show me the man and I'll show you the crime”

It was Comrade Beria, Commissar. Yes Commissar, we have framed him many times and made thumped up allegations against him. We have done all that Commissar, we even said he walks like John Wayne or a broken crab.

Who is this John Wayne, are you a time-traveler now?

Have you tried spreading the rumor that he goes to the Cementry at night and sleep with dead women, he digs up.

No Commissar, I don't think even the stupidest Proletariat would believe that one.

Have you tried spreading a rumour he has *** with a dog.

Commissar Natashavo hasn't been anywhere near him, Commissar

Are you being funny again, Grego

No Commissar!

So what is happening right now with our Mr Invincible Elitist Poet Romanov or whatever his name is,  the MAN that you ******* useless Republican comrades, can't drive mad or make commit suicide, a simple thing, that we have done thousands of times. Why is it that when we do these things to those Class-traitor Proletariat, they die or go raving mad loco coo coo  within six months.

The Proletariat are brainless  cowards Commissar, they can dish it out but they can't take it, Commissar, that's why its so easy for us Senior Members of the Po-lit-Bureau to manipulate and control them. As regards our MAN we are still actively harassing him, we are presently mixing him up again, mentally and doing voice to skull tactics with him. We also make sure he remains frozen in a time warp. This is useful in allowing us to demonstrate to the imbecilic Proletariat that we are powerful and can control people and events, this makes sure they realize our capabilities and might and of course, fosters espirit de corps. It keeps them all in line.

Well that's good thinking Grego, yes, that's good, as regards our Poet, why don't we just blast off his *****.

We did Commissar, but he grew bigger ones!

Are you being funny again, Grego, do you want to be sent to the Gulag in Siberia to keep the Poet company.

No, Commissar, I have a date tonight with Commissar Natashavo!
Amoy  Feb 2018
Behind the Mask
Amoy Feb 2018
By Amoy

Hiding behind the mask of shame and pain
I pick on you just so I can build my confidence and look cool
Who will help me to unmask my pain and show my true self to the world?
I hide in the hole of my mind waiting for someone to care enough to see through my game.
I hurt people because I’m hurt; I pick on you because I was picked on
I suffer in silence only to spew the nastiest thing that my ego dispels from my soul
Can’t you see that my venom masks my pain?
Help me too; I am the victim who only knows pain and anxiety
Everyone helps the victim; can’t you see that I am a victim too?
Can’t you see that my hurt takes shape and camouflages what lies beneath?
Can’t you see I hurt too?
Tell me who helps the bully?
Is it you? Do u have time to help me?
No one will
I guess u think that I’m a lost cause as well?
I’m not a lost cause I am a worthy cause
Who will help the Bully?

If you can get me to admit that I that I need love too then you have done your job
Help me see that I am worthy, that I can be confident without causing pain
Help me to love myself, that's where most of my pain lies.
Help me; forgive me so that I can forgive myself.
Who will help the bully; is it you? We are victims too
Who will help me see that my future can be bright too?
Who will help the bully is it you?
Brent  May 2016
Never Let Her Go
Brent May 2016
Never let her go.
Even if she has the nastiest tongue,
that not a single sentence she speaks doesn't have vulgarity,
but when she speaks those three words
makes the most beautiful symphony.

Never let her go.
Even if she's the craziest girl you know,
that not a single day you spend with her doesn't have her constantly nagging you,
but when she gives you her most tender kiss and her warmest embrace,
melts the most frozen peaks.

Never let her go.
Even if she loves taking pictures of herself,
that not a single day doesn't drown you with her selfies,
but when she gives you her most beautiful smile,
makes the brightest stars go dim.

Never let her go.
Never let her go.
Because the single day that you do,
will make you regret that you ever did.
I shouldn't have...
sweetrevoirs  Oct 2016
8.05 pm
sweetrevoirs Oct 2016
One day you'll find yourself missing her in the worst way there is to miss a person.
Bones in your body cracks in every searching steps.
You can't differ between your sobs and a ticking clock.
And your soul, it wrestles with the one in your head. Daily bloodshed of "This is not real, she is still here." and "This is. It is. She has found another home and she is now whole."
One day you will find yourself missing her in the nastiest possible way there is to be an empty shell.
To breakdown in every intersection you walk in,
and to look at a carcrash and think 'at least I can survive that'.
To feel every fiber every atom in your whole being burn and scream,
they are begging,
they are begging for you to ******* breathe.
To inhale air on to your lungs and not her ever leaving scents,
to put air on it and not chants of 'I miss her' because repeating those words won't take you anywhere but the graveyard.
You'll start making god out of every thing.
Your home, your mother, your socks, the ring you never get any chance to give her.
You just need to hang on to those beliefs, that even if your god won't hear your cries, you can still beg the other ones to return her.
Your knees touch the ground more often than your lip does the cigarette.


(But now that she's still here she'll still be the one taking all the pills.)
Tatiana Jan 2015
"Would you like some cake"
A women asked me politely as she was exiting the door holding a tray of cake.
"No thank you, i'm not a fan of cake."
I respond, laughing politely because the situation was a little bizarre.
"That's probably why you're so skinny and not fat."
I didn't respond after that and here's why:
repeat her last line, except with the nastiest tone you could imagine.
Then imagine her glaring at me as she left.
...
What did I do? Why did that escalate so quickly?
What just happened....
I don't understand why that was at all necessary.
“CAAAAMON-CAAAMON-CAAMON-CAMON. *******. *******, YOU STUPID *******!!!!”  I slam on the brakes as the traffic light turns red, the front end of my car now parked in the middle of the intersection.  

A bunch of headlights begin to move towards me, and I rev the engine, slamming the car into reverse.   Now behind the white line, I lean back and take a few breaths.  I sound like my old man.  That nasty, fat ***** was always screaming at those useless racehorses as his soggy, limp cigar would bounce from his lips, spit landing all over the paid-in-full fakies of whatever blonde ***** was cuddled up next to him for the afternoon.  Having lost everything by the end of the day, he would always plod home and deposit his soiled, checkered pants on the laundry room floor and crawl into bed to make love to my mom.  

Ugh. I need to stop thinking about him.  I already wish I could be one of those old horses who gets shot in the head.  Today was my five-year work anniversary, and on behalf of the entire department, volcano-face Emily bestowed upon me a massive dog bone, which now sits tauntingly on my passenger seat.  As she suppressed that nasty giggle of hers and handed me the bone, the room erupted with laughter, someone shouting from the back corner, “Hey, Ed! Get it?!  You’re always like a dog with a bone!”  Maybe I should go back to work and make that ***** play fetch.

No. I’ll save that for later.  Right now I am going to go get that Philly Cheese Steak sandwich that’s been on my mind all afternoon.  That is if this light ever turns green again.  But ******* is my mouth salivating just thinking about that sandwich.  

What the hell is that?

A Ford Bronco is blazing towards the intersection, directly into oncoming traffic.  It swerves onto the shoulder, speeding past the rows of stopped cars and blasting through the red light.  The driver is leaning out the window, swinging around a sword.  He notices me staring and looks straight into my eyes, solidifying his unspoken threat by pointing his medieval weapon straight at my heart.  

Fine.  If that ******* wants a duel, I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not oblige.  I reach behind the passenger seat and grab the antique cop light that’s been gathering dust on the floor ever since I purchased it at the neighborhood thrift store.  I slap the thing on the top of my car and punch through the red light, cranking the steering wheel to make a quick u-ey.  As I gain some distance, I can just barely make out the license plate.

DR PEPR

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Dr. Pepper ignores the fact that I am only 20 feet behind him and turns up his stereo, blasting a Renaissance dance tune from hell.

I’m going to end this, and I’m going to end it by sticking that sword up that Shakespeare *******’s ***.  

Dr. Pepper slams on his brakes, the sudden jolt causing him to drop his sword.  The passengers in the back of the cab burst into a slow-motion uproar, and I take the opportunity to cut off their escape route.  Now stopped, I pull out my mocha-flavored e-cig from my front pocket and look over at my dog bone as the vapor fills the car.  I snag the bone and step outside, feeling the weight of the rawhide in my hand as I approach the truck. Not stopping to bother with the driver, I head towards the back, kicking the forgotten sword into traffic.  My clothes are bathed in red from the brake lights, and the coked-out frenzy of the Renaissance men reaches a ****** as I stand before them, looking like the devil himself.

Adrenaline is surging through me.  As I take a drag of mocha, I scan the faces of the annoying pukes in the back of the truck and locate the nastiest in the bunch sitting in the middle of his troupe, completely stiff with fear.  I look deep into his eyes and slowly exhale.  I pull one more drag as I raise the massive bone and bring it crashing down, making full contact with the left brake light.  The red shards explode into the sky, and I do not hesitate to follow up with the other break light.  Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I can’t help but swing even harder.  

Wow - what a beautiful explosion.  

“Unsheathe thy sword!  UNSHEATHE THY SWORD!”

Dr. Pepper searches frantically for his sword as I casually approach his door. “Dr. Pepper,” I say calmly. He continues to desperately ***** around the truck, so I lean forward, “DR. PEPPER.” He turns begrudgingly to look at me.  Wanting to bid farewell to my defeated adversary, I raise my right hand into a 90 degree angle and wiggle my fingers “bye-bye” in his direction. His blood-shot, brown eyes widen, and it’s clear that he is terrified that his face will be the source of my next fireworks display.  Lucky for him my stomach growls, reminding me that my quest for a Philly Cheese Steak sandwich remains unfulfilled.

I walk away, the cherry light still flashing on top my car, so I take my bone and take a hard swing, unleashing the last set of fireworks in my perfectly-directed scene.  I get in the car, and as I start the engine, the oldies station is blaring Clarence the Frogman Henry’s song, “Ain’t Got No Home”.  It’s the best part of the song, and without hesitation I begin to tap out the rhythms on my steering wheel and sing along with Clarence in that high-pitched voice of his:

“I ain’t got no sister,
I ain’t got a brother,
I ain’t got a father,
not even a mother,
I’m a lonely boy,
I ain’t got a home.
Whoo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!
Whoo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-­woo-woo!”
FIDELITY?  I've always been a strong believer in fidelity until i met him.
He was nothing like the other men, there was an aura about him that pulled you to him, the man was an enigma, sexuality had never been so portrayed by a man but this man was special!
ADULTERY! This man had charmed his way into my life and boy did i not know what i was in for! He was married yes, i was entertaining young men yes but i was overwhelmed by my feelings for him that i embraced it and loved the fact that he was married and i had a man, men? i really didn't care.
*******! The first time he took me was on his office table, we didn't make love, all we did was ****, he was rough and would say the nastiest things, i felt like a ***** and i loved it. he wouldn't even bother closing the door, made it more intense. we would be at it for hours but still, i wanted his filthy **** after we were done, plunging in so deep, filling me with his seed, spending time in his office in the pretense of working. Well he was working me and i was rocking his ****.
LUST? Lust was all i felt for him, it wasn't love. i wasn't so gullible to think so because when i woke up i couldn't even remember his name. maybe it was a dream showing me how the other half lived.........
Brent Kincaid Nov 2016
How do you sleep at night
All the stuff you did ain’t right
You cheated and you lied
It’s known about far and wide
Every day more comes to light.

How do you hold up your head
You should be ashamed instead
You’re the cause of many quarrels
You have few detectable morals.
Your honesty balance is in the red.

We all know all we get from you
Is promises that won’t come true,
You don’t care about any one else
All the matters to you is yourself.
You’re outrageous trash in all you do.

So how do you live with yourself
As Santa Claus’s very nastiest elf?
Every rule you choose to break
Is based on whatever you can take
Regardless of hurting someone else.

Wishing you bad usually isn’t cool
But in your case I’ll break that rule
Since you so often serve up hate
What you deserve is that same rate.
I’m polite, but I am nobody’s fool.

So, I hope you get exactly what
The people you have cheated got
That you end up with just a stone
And spend your time all alone
With your hopes and dreams all shot.
Emmky  Jul 2018
Bulimia
Emmky Jul 2018
We've known each other for long
But still, you can't say a thing
That would define me
What's that spark you see?

Well, I don't know
You have no clue what lives inside my guts
No way you could see within
So why are you still here, wondering who's under the skin?

I don't want you to get *****, finding out who I am
Coz there's a lot of **** inside my head
And much more ***** in my heart, both can't be replaced
No point in cleaning it up, trust me I've tried many times before

And I don't really need you
To see the mess
People around me have done
Coz you've helped them too

I'm sorry that it's true
And there is no cure for me
So don't try to find it
Or else, regrets will hunt me down
Because you've wasted your time not only
On me, but on my issues, too

How many times have you cried because of me?
How many times you wished you were dead
Because your feelings were accepted but not given back?
Tell me, I'll listen before I go, disappear on the quiet bubbly road

There's bulimia in me, I figured it out
Vomiting feelings I've once accepted, not able to answer them
And now giving them back in the nastiest way possible
Covered in dark bubbles, smelling like death

And I would kneel by the toilet
Throwing up all the things I didn't mean
But said with a smile, hoping you'll be glad
Because we are friends, right?
It leaves bitter taste that stays for days
And I can't help but think

Why do they try to see the darkest part
Where everything is messy and covered in blood
Examination of my fakest smiles leads them to realization
There's something wrong with my heart

And I appreciate that you care, yet
I'm sick of it
I can't handle feelings of others and
That drives me insane, needing more shots
So I could spit all the mess out from my mouth and get rid of it

You really are there when I need
Thanks about that by the way
But you can't heal a bulimian heart
That's sick of all this attention that
You're giving me

It's not your fault, it's just me
Knowing people who get too much attached to me
Will get hurt
So my brain starts fighting against it, leaving my heart with a message

Don't let them in and if you do
Get them out like stomach does
When it can't handle the food
Don't play it nice

Still, I can't help
But don't want to hurt you
Yet you're difficult
So now I'm standing here
Saying these words I've made up
Of what I threw up
For the girl and boy who grew too much attached to me
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
Almost all my most popular poems
Are the ones kicking Trump’s fat ***.
I know after November sixth for sure
This particular issue will lose gas.
While that will slow me down for sure,
It won’t make me loathe him less.
He’s a charlatan, a liar and a ****,
In almost every way a total mess.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.

So I will have to maunder around a bit
To find a juicier source of poetic satire
Than the Big Cheetoh has often been.
He’d open his mouth and spew hellfire.
He frothed and threatened and whined,
And for the most part the scorching
Ended up being his own big ****.
And never was an *** more deserving.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.

He’s arrogant and babbles lies
One of the nastiest people ever seen.
He only seems to make sure his face
Shows in photographs in magazines.
He has little understanding of the job
He thinks he wants to be chosen for.
He expects everyone to bow and scrape,
To compliment, effuse and to adore.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.

— The End —