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mikumiku Jul 2018
Don’t release your *******
Just release my single
I don’t think it’s stunning
When that thing is jingle
******* taste like Pepsi-Cola
******* taste like Marabou
See a ***** – I say hola
Eat that thing like caribou
Karisa Brown Mar 2018
Let me choke you
A few more times

I slapped his ****
Across my cheek
Held it in my mouth
And did it again

Oh you nasty little girl
You love daddy's ****
Don't you

Suction your head
And make a loud pop
As I come off

Finger up your *** now
Spit and slide lips round and down
Pumping finger in and out

Cupping your ***** like a ring
******* you
Till I scream
Now get every last drop
Mmmm that's right
Venny Jul 2017
I crave your taste upon my tongue. Stinging my senses with the sweetest poisonous honey.

I want my demise at your hands, softly stroking my skin as my sighs fill your ears. As the tingles on your neck send thoughts to me that any father would demand we repent for.

The taste of your fingertips on my tongue, blinding me to judgement and the stories of Greek mythology that end in a demise created from carnal desire. I want you to destroy me in sweetest way.

Falling down a rabbit hole of sin, and reckless abandonment. The taste of you overwhelmingly clogging my senses, and my teeth softly attached to the skin on your neck. Taking over you with abandonment.


I want your marks upon my flesh, branding me and reminding me how long this may last. I am at your alter begging for release. Begging for you, begging to find me. Begging for your peace.

All I want is you on top of me is you free, and your heavy breathing when we send each other to the places we need to be.

Pretty thoughts tangled in ugly sheets.

Take what you need, and I'll keep the memories.
olivia Jul 2017
pinks and blues and golden hues
sunset simmers in the sky
and inside
I look in your eyes for the first time-blue

backwoods and a warm beer
my *** is sore sitting on this rock
my hands a mess but I don't seem to care
somehow I find myself already thinking about your ****

the night turns to black
you ask to go back to your car
I warily oblige aware of what's to ***
the first time we've met and we're going to take it too far

we find ourselves in the backseat of your prius
its hot that you care like that
chest to chest, we begin to neck
excuse me, I guess you can't mind your hands

once you find yourself inside I scream
I know it feels better for you than me
it always does
I'd prefer a few fingers and some tongue

when you drop me off at my place
you salute with:
"good night,
homie."
not about love, not about bipolar disorder
kaylene- mary Jul 2017
I think of it as coming
back to myself,
like a second cousin
visiting from the states
As if I'm waiting in
the airport terminal,
hands full of sweat
and a note stapled to my chest
I can't remember when
I first became a space to  be filled,
an empty vessel floating
in between the veil
But I'm starting to feel
like more of a splutter
than a storm,
and it's moments like
this that make me think God
is just ********
irresponsible
I find myself digging
for my sense of wonder
at the bottom of my music box,
like the folded ears
of a saxophone player,
sitting across the bar
As if I'll slide my hands
across the slime of my exterior,
slip back into my identity
like an old coat
While I  tumble into the
empty bellyed passion
of a man with small hands
and an inability to say my name,
hoping I'll come across
my purpose for life
while drenched in his ***
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