Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
zebra Feb 2017
forgive me my darling
hollow beauty
but seeing you so gaunt
sunken dark eyes
and skin like gray soap
makes me feel
your easily breakable
already so close to death
my **** could crack your pelvis
and bird delicate ribs

inspired skeleton dancing
your body exclaims to all
a sensual exhibition
of slow suicide
my bloodless blossom
brave breatharian
your favorite math
by multiplied
delicious starvations

you may need a strong man
deaths final instrument
who will love you
with tender crushes
darkly ******

come naked
spread wide my lovely grotesque
nestle in my arms
coffins embrace
to be bruised
while tremulously kissed
i will turn you to crumbles and powder
to finish sweetly
what you have started so long ago
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
zebra Jul 2016
I am Madam *******
ive come to your lair
please come to the table
and pull up a chair

i see you have  guests
theres plenty to eat
look at my ****
start with my feet

collard in silk ,
no ******* i ware
am i not gorgeous
do you like my hair

plump ******* spill out
manicured toes
take a bite
ill hold a pose

demonic friends
need love too
thrilled at there sight
my **** turns to goo

curtsy smiling
manners i have
ive come to be eaten
do you like calve

brain washed im not
death is for me
a nice hot oven
i hope you like ***

to my dinner guests
i bow and i scrape
i like it so much
you cant call it ****

as the guest of honor
soon to be eaten
i receive an ovation
tenderized and beaten

slit her gut open
shes a feast they cry
what a **** ***
shes begging to die

removing my robe
legs spread apart
on the table face down
please tear me apart

hands are clamped
and ankles secured ...
my head lifted
you'd like me cured

head on a block
knees pushed up so
*** is perched
would you like a toe

hands outstretched
i'm pretty when i smile
split me open
excuse my bile

at the dinner party
all howl with delight
as she cries **** me, please
shes so sweet and shes tight

we come from behind
our ***** in her ***
she farts like a bugle
oh wow its mass

hell where demons
with lots of hot ****
poops on the table
let's drink some more ***

come **** me sweet
you're so bad
tear me to pieces
is your name Vlad

**** down my throat
cut my belly to pieces
unwind my intestine
eat my fices

my eyes are candy
pull them out of my head
get out the soy sauce
i love to be dead

stick a spike up my ***
send me to hell
light me on fire
i'm in a spell

two buttery *****
in my mouth at one time
with hot lava devils
******* me blind

two up my *******
long daddy strokes
oh hell yeah
have a couple of cokes

working my ****
licking my ****
slow cook me
i look good on a spit

being ******
and pulled apart
its so much fun
it must be art

it's getting intense
i think i feel sick
my **** run through
please have a lick

it's time for the end
get the big knife
finish me, honey
i'm tired of life

the guest gather round
for the crescendo, the ****
out pours my blood
oh what a thrill

i'm ready for the oven
i go in still alive
turned up to 450
i blister and writhe

I am Madam *******
i've come to your lair
please come to the table
and pull up a chair

dinner is served
Gigi Tiji Jun 2014
you Tug, and Tug these Servile Strings,
you've Sewn inTo my Flesh
i've Sewn a Few on You as Well,
a Tangled Gory Mesh

Ev'ry Tug i Take will Rip
your Skin from Off your Bone, but
You've got Quite a Sim'lar Grip,
tug Rip,
cry Laugh,
and Moan

Two Puppets, Each Other's Masters
Together, Beget **Disasters
Noel Billiter Sep 2018
Mr. handsome stranger
He’s coming after
Desperate like a last request
Frantic delusional lunatic
Unhinged fragile losing what’s left
Self serving sadomasochistic
Easy on the eyes but doesn’t quite fit in
Playing it cool in social situations
His intelligent banter he claims as his own
With somewhat smart comebacks he practiced at home

Trying so hard that the sweat beads down
Onto his stressed wrinkled furrowed brow
the stories he skillfully misdirected  
Carefully darting  unwanted questions
Mr. Indiscreet can’t blow his cover
Disarm the girl of his unrealistic dreams
How quite average and normal he can be

Mr. Stalker walks over to the Girl
works up the courage and talks to her
Strikes up a witty conversation
With his movie star smile and education
Using the words that he pre rehearsed
Says all the right things and compliments her
Looking past his rather peculiar behavior
And when politely asked gives up her number

He rings her up the very next day
With a romantic scenic picnic date
Under the shade of a lush green tree
Upon a blanket with wine and cheese
Playing the part of the handsome boyfriend
Gains her full trust and faith in him

Joking in a effort to make her laugh
To put her at ease and follow his plan
Jealous of her ex boyfriends
Knowing their names and full address
And when he drops her off at home
Tracks and follows her every move
Knows all her weekly kept routines
Threatens and blackmails all her friends
Studies everyday mundane errands
Unaware of his decent into madness
lilpoiein Aug 2014
This is a terrible romantic
and sadomasochistic narrative.

The artist's mind is clothed in fabrics.
Fashion is his vocabulary.

Grim-tales are often told with foreboding,
exacted further through sharp, perceiving lenses.

Collections of sharp silhouettes speak of
a masterful and sensitive touch.

A turbulence of emotions exploded in
delicate and mesmerising theatricals.

Taking delight in challenging popular notions,
Alexander left audience continually in a
lingering aftertaste of shock mixed with wonder.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.the fireworks are still going off, Guy Fawkes 2.0, and sitting there thinking... big bang... so there was a sound in vacuum? i see a firework go off, the bright explosive light, and then the thunderous balloon burst! boom! i tap my finger... i'm guessing a 1.2 second delay from seeing the light from the firework, and hearing the BOOM! so... in light of all this... are we 1.2 seconds ahead of the big bang, or 1.2 seconds behind it, actually having happened, as in: still happening... i mean... it's not like sound precursors light... and we are not exactly illuminating creatures for most part, but sure as ****, we're loud.

   i might have been looking for
a needle in a haystack,
or whatever it was i was looking
  but i have spoken to a few homeless
i remember about four congregated
around me in Trafalgar Sq.
one sunny afternoon,
    and that was the point where i knew
i was losing it, detaching myself
from the conventionality of "reality":
having meaningless conversations
with people wearing NPC-masks...
the voice inside my head started
thin out... until it fizzled out and i turned
into a writing machine...
if i had the same internal-monologue
with myself, i wouldn't be writing this,
a gaping abyss agitated by whatever
interacts with it,
and subsequently prompts such writing...
i put my hand around one of
the homeless men,
he didn't like it, i comforted him,
we'll just talk...
   then he started explaining to me about
his spot in the Sq.,
  he stood up, and indexed the spot,
the spot where i sat next to him,
another came and sat akimbo
like a child, listening to me intently,
two teenage girls passed
and he asked them:
      what do you see in his (my) eyes?
they replied nothing...
still somehow mesmerized like a child
in a primary school, listening intently...
red as a beetroot from all the *****...
i ended up giving him a book
i just bought in an indie bookshop...
christopher marlowes Dr. Faustus...
i stood up and abstracted a square,
drew both my index fingers
   around a slab of pavement
asking the stupid question:
                     do you think it's there?
or inside your mind?
                  then the homeless man
sitting in akimbo introduced me
to a northern irish veteran with PTSD...
drunk like a skunk...
         and then we walked into
the homeless shelter together,
   they didn't let me in,
because i didn't remember my national
insurance number, or had the card
for that matter...
          weeks pass...
   imagine the chances of this happening,
in central London...
i bump into the same man who sat in
akimbo in Trafalgar Sq. on the streets
of Soho... the chances... or meeting someone,
randomly, a second time, in London?
******* slim... slimmer than size 0
catwalk models... more like size -1...
and he told me that a spider crawled
      into his ear...
    he said that he was going deaf...
                   so i walked into a shop
bought a few beers and we sat in
a church courtyard talking with his friend
who showed off his buddha tattoo
and said: i'm going to walk to India...
subsequently we were ushered out...
because we were breaking the law...
and i thought: but you serve wine in
the church, don't you?
    there was no argument...
then there was the instance in Leytonstone
with the homeless talking about
pneumonia of some woman they
were friends with...
               many pleasantries hugging
what not...
          the most profound instance i had
was just outside Romford train station...
the same man i would later sit down with
and offer a cigarette to in Seven Kings,
just outside the O'Grady's Irish pub...
       i've seen how people interact with
homeless people... that snarky attitude...
they stand and bend over while talking
to someone sitting on the pavement on cardboard...
a toned down version of paddy bateman...
this ridiculing with intimidation...
ugliest crap imaginable...
   so i sat with this man...
     gave him my spare fiver...
       rolled up a joint...
   we went around the corner to smoke it...
some kid with a football ran up to us,
we passed... and then we asked each other questions...
the kid said he wanted to become a footballer,
me and the homeless man encouraged
him to take his dream seriously...
quickly the marijuana high smirk
left his face...
    apparently i had a diamond on my forehead,
claimed the homeless man...
but then i asked the very touchy question...
so... what made you homeless...
  i'll never forget what he retorted with...
my mother told me to never tell a lie.
  so the only reason he was homeless was
because he was an honest man, prior?
   oh... so this is what makes men homeless...
honesty, for one,
   and along with honesty,
   other traits that elevate valor,
    alongside the many other virtues...
well... "who would have thought"?
               like that wasn't painfully obvious
to begin with... namely...
how the rats, the skivvy, the immoral,
the sadomasochistic overlords of
institutions become rewarded exponentially...
while the man who replies
to the homeless question with:
    my mother told me to never tell a lie.
Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys:
She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank,
Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it.  
In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse
We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon,
Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men.  
Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile,
Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank.  
I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my *****.  
With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs
I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper!

We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle
Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks
While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits.  
Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them.  
Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself
And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies.

We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph
Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds,
Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts
Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers
That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles.  
Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”.  
In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze,
I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier,
Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls.  
“You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped.

The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board.  
Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate.  
I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
mannley collins May 2014
and the unconditional love and the humility
that it takes, to stand naked with **** erected
and to be whipped,long and hard and loveingly,
with a custom 3 foot signal whip.
The welcome 500 to 700 lashes
laid upon my naked back and buttocks,
vigoriously and lovingly by my twin flame,
that take me beyond any adrenal blockage
imposed by mind and conditioned identity.
Ah the warm comfort of ******.
"Just warming up" she giggles, then takes
her custom 2 foot bullwhip and give the shaft
of my stiff wobbling and bobbing **** 65 carefully
aimed and oh so stinging strokes,
the tip of the whip painfully flicking my shaven *****
on each stroke,
and like a proper slave I say"thank you Mistress" after each
stinging burning stroke.
And then I slide the full length of my stiff and burning shaft
into the unconditionally loving cool and soft fragrant moisture
of her beingnesss
and am absorbed instantly  without a trace.
I burn in multi colours.
I am two in one.
I am one in two.
I am a Lava Lamp!!!.
Do you have the discipline to deep nasally breathe your way into the maximum Adrenalin flow that comes as a result of the sadomasochistic ****** way of breaking your lifelong Adrenal suppression?.
my life is a continuous poem.
written with fingers and eaten with ever open mouths.

— The End —