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Vale Luna May 2017
Uneasiness
And insecurity
Because maybe he won't like
The way I move my mouth

But when my lips
Officially greet his
For the first time
I forget why I was anxious
Or why I popped 16 mints
Or put on an extra coat of Chapstick
Because I can taste him

I can taste another human being
But it isn't classified as cannibalism
Because I'm not eating them
Simply tasting
A delicious mixture
Of love and lust
But really
What's the difference?

There's a tongue between my lips
Not mine
******* my mouth
Choking me
… In that **** kinda way

Part of someone else
Is inside me
Interlocking body parts
Exchanging saliva
A cringe worthy thought
Simultaneously turning me on

Maybe I'm a good kisser
But how am I to tell?
I know he's a good kisser
I know
Because he makes me moan
He makes me hungry for more
Or maybe
I'm just easy like that

Our teeth clash
But I don't bite
Although
Sometimes
I chew on his lower lip
It still
Doesn't classify as cannibalism.
The science behind kissing really isn't cannibalism.

Based off my first kiss!
Anthony Perry Jan 2016
Coagulated blood dried out from the sun, footprints pressed into the mud from a night on the run, chased and ravaged, pressed against a tree with emotions gutted.

Mutilated and dying, I'm laying under falling stars, saturated skies and underlying scars, every conversation with you feels like being run over by a highway full of cars.

Blood screaming from a cautourised wound travels farther than your ability to listen to reason, wide eyed, your pasteurized white eyes seem cold but searing like the flesh of a steaming heathen.

Necrosis sets in on the heaping pile of me drudged upon the roots of my personification, watch the black blood slipping through the dirt like molasses as it climbs over your teeth and grips the lips before it passes, blood loss is creating a hallucination.

Watch as I become hollow from your cannibalistic lifestyle. Your desperation, human flesh you defiled, mindless separation, our family's bodies stuffed in a corner and piled, you became a Wendigo, a wicked transmorgification.
E Townsend Nov 2015
The disappointment that resides in me,
as much as I tell it to go away,
swallows my entire body.

It eats away at my flesh and rarely
leaves enough time for skin to regenerate.
The disappointment that resides in me

licks its lips hungrily
at the sight of my blood, salivates
and swallows my entire body.

This cannot be healthy,
I say to myself. There has to be a way to invalidate
the disappointment that resides in me.

I wonder if there was ever a phase of sobriety
when my expectations' weight
did not swallow my entire body.

I suppose I must return to reality
and succumb to incubate
the disappointment that resides in me,
that swallows my entire body.
Grey Sep 2015
I would rip apart your throat
with my teeth
and
swallow down your blood.
My mouth works through
muscle and
tendons and
bone.
My claws grow slowly,
as do my fangs,
and my appetite.
It cannot be sated.
I am Wihtikow,
less than man,
less than beast,
more dangerous
than both combined.
En la grana de un prado sanguíneo
o en un bosque de cabezas cercenadas,
la viuda reclama la carne
de un párvulo *******.

Allí donde entonan sus voces
un coro de lamentos disonantes.
Reniega de su apetito
la matriarca del barrio francés

Pues los gritos de Joliet
no inquietan su consciencia,
cosechan en cambio,
un jardín de culposos deleites

Placeres como solo admite,
la maquiavelia de una gioconda
que envuelta en lujosos atavíos
extiende sus garras al inocente
.
Ni hablar del perjurio voraz,
que oculta a la fantasía
la marea virgen del infortunio
y el propio siniestro.

La desesperación de una madre
que devora a sus hijos con el don de Saturno.

Para la que no hay erotismo
sino aquel que evoca
el rigor cadavérico.

Vapores que ascienden
desde el lecho en descomposición,
y alimentan su magia.

Celebran el cruento dolor del infante,
con la mirada de espanto
apenas visible en el carmesí
de sus finas pestañas

Porque es claro como la luna
y tan cierto como la muerte
que en la viuda no hay gozo,
sin el grito que desgarra la noche.

Sin la brea que desciende
sobre el horizonte,
y la angustia que acompaña
la pasión de la masacre.
... o mejor dicho, la viuda de Jacques Paris, Marie Laveau, la maga del Misisipi y su muñeca  Joliet, a quienes olvidara la historia por imitar a los titanes y consumir a sus hijos con el vigor de las masas famélicas
Nairi Kalpakian Jul 2015
Angel sits on her bed talking to her boyfriend, they’ve dated for two months and he says that’s enough.

“Ang think about me, think about us, do it for us”.

Angela is hesitant but her gaze remains fixed at the ceiling lamp, a moth in a trance

Keeps bumping into it making audible clinks

Angela opens her mouth slightly, hesitantly

“Where are you, Baby, I’ll come to you right now.”

“You’re gonna do it?”

“I’m ready, yes. I trust you and Love You with my heart Baby.”

“That’s what I wanna hear, I’ll leave the door unlocked. You are the Best.”

The call ends and the screen on her phone goes dim

It was a breezy evening, Angela decided to dress appropriately

One arm through the sleeve, then the other, then one leg through the pant, then the other

Shoes, socks, watch

Appropriate

Lock the door, hop on the bike, which she learned to ride

At nine years old, the crux of her life, a little later than most

She learned to go fast at ten, to catch up

A left at 11th, and straight down three blocks to Baby’s place

Illuminating the whole street at 12:00

The door was unlocked like he said and she entered like she said

“I’m here, are you ready?” “Yes, please go ahead.”

Angela had never done this before but she loved her Baby so much

So, she started with her hands by making a slight incision at the webbing between her thumb and pointer

All it took was a slight tug to peel off an inch of her skin, and then more, and then more and then more

Until her whole left hand was exposed to the elements, to Baby’s great delight

“More”

She nodded with a slight smile on her face, and began to scrape off the rest of her arm

Muscles and tendons revealed themselves, twitching slightly as if surprised by their own existence

“Get it all off! Stop teasing! I love you, I want more!”

Baby laughed and Angela made sure to laugh louder as she tore away to reveal her deltoid and her pectorals across her chest

Next her stomach went, then her crotch, her skin making hollow thuds on the floor whenever they fell

She wasn’t very neat but after all, this was her first time.

The frenzy of the moment left Ang breathless, so this is True Love she thought, blood and mirth

Baby held her all night long and traced his fingers across each strand of tissue, not afraid

Angela could feel every individual filament in her left arm tense and flex and squelch to supply her livelihood, their livelihood

And she smiled for herself, the greatest sacrifice she could give, and all for Baby

tearing herself apart made her feel complete!
Axel Jun 2015
I feel no pity...No remorse, nor shame...As i put them to the stake...
Hanging them up by their necks... setting their bodies ablaze..Grinding their ashes between my fingers... before mixing them with my supper.

Am i depraved? Am i what remains.. when the blood of dreams have spilled out of me....
And the darkness took shape... giving birth to despair...

And with its birth amidst my blood and *****.....I also ******* all that humanized my soul.Such is the fate of the slaves....I feed of them to sustain myself a little longer...
A sad comfort i find within the tomb of my hollow shell...The rancid smell of their burning flesh brings me back to my inner battlefields..A fading flame of humanity has all but illuminate the way back...

Am I to be dragged upon the altar and submit myself to the thralls?I feel the lash carve open my flesh and tearing my muscle..Nothing but muzzle flashes as i faint from sight..

Awakening at the sight of flesh flies feasting on my festering wounds..I am consumed alive amidst the filth and dirt i left behind...And am exposed for the maggot i am on the inside....

My consciousness evaporates into the faint smell of burning flesh...

Drooling with ravenous hunger.. I gluttonously gorge myself and snarl at the hand that feeds me...Like the ghoul i am... I drool at the sight of the master throwing his dogs a bone...And if he wants me to roll over and play dead...I shall not doubt nor neglect....I will submit myself to his will.. and undergo the bereavement of my innocence.

Until I blossom like nightshade...and reach my full potential...

And i will be burned as incense and my ashes processed in a final supper for all to consume.
Axel Jun 2015
Staccato's of clasping chains.. feverishly flaying your wrists...

As a rabid dog chewing off its own limbs to crawl away.


You hide in my shadow.. The only place where they cannot get you...

While your children burn...

A sour scent of ***** floods richly within these forsaken walls...

A tranquilizing melody of ****** gargling


I will mutilate the memory...

I will stain the status you built...

I will pluck your fruit and devour it with voracious appetite

Gnawing your rotting tongue bit by bit...

i drink sepsis that drips from the shank of your thighs..

My hunger everlasting...

Ravenously, depraved, my claws rend and maim your angelic wings...


A carpet of feathers gusts at your final gasp....

A cold lick on your eyeballs...

We drag you into our grave...

Rats...

Swarms of rats...

And i wear a crown baptized and blessed of your blood....

Adorned with warm and beating entrails of the defeated and the devoured...

Bricked in walls....


I can still hear you clawing during the  most sleepless of sleeps...

And taste your rotting tongue...
XIII May 2015
You are what you eat.
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