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Uncorrupted fondness and care is one of the rarest things that you will ever find in your life when you find it make sure you hold on to it unlike you wanna turn out to be people who write sob stories and poems....
Debauched nights, destruction waning,
There is a twisted pull to the underbelly.
Chaos is ****, like silk stockings and
Bonnie an Clyde.
I can smell it a mile away,
like a dog in heat.
It lures me from the
safety of my sweet calm life.
There is an existence beyond
the bridge, but it's boring and soulless.
I want to ****** the light, and
the routine.  Dredge the marrow
from the bone
As I wrote this, I thought about Charles Bukowski, and the pull to the wild side of life.
NM Aug 2019
All that money, and yet, still so cheap.
Based upon deep pain and resentment I have had forever regarding being cheated on and compared to *******/cam models.
.
.
Sad how loyalty is nothing but a casual game now and people only want/look for "temporary bliss"...but to each their own I suppose.
Joe Baldwin Apr 2018
“Just relax”

She says, as I picture her kissing the
Neck of a female coworker
With whom she had recently started
A flirtatious friendship

“We’ll play it by ear”

Scratches on the cluttered chalkboard
That is my anxious mind
Riddled with equations of what ifs
And ramblings of aftermaths

“It’ll work out”

Isn’t as reassuring as it might seem
When I want nothing more than to witness a fantasy
That is scribbled in a weekly calendar
And only committed to by word of mouth

“what else could I say”

Is a fair point,
but one that falls silent on my lust
which seems to be manifesting as a smoky devil
with obsessive compulsive disorder

“And if it doesn’t happen, oh well”

Are easy words for her to say
Considering the amount of fantasies she has fulfilled
Since we have started this journey
Of debauchery, and self-esteem adjustments

“At least we have each other”

The most comforting thing she has said on the topic,
Yet I wonder
Am I enough for you…

And you for me?
Cana Feb 2018
Its Friday night in the ramshackle city
The sweaty bodies writhing to to soco beat
Drugs, Drink and Debauchery and Cigarettes
Let go.
Saturday/Sunday morning.
Sun rose up from
behind the trees.
Over did it last night.
Door bell rings and the sound
you hear is so razor sharp
that it guts and mutilates
your dreams and suddenly,
you're rudely awakened.
Muster yourself out of bed.
Open the door in your underwear.
Sunlight blasts your dilated eyes.
Two well dressed alter boys
are at your front steps.
The local place of worship
sent for recruiters
to fill up their pockets
with non exempt tax dollars.
They've got "The Book" in one hand.
Pamphlets in another.
Well prepared.
Here with only one purpose.
One goal in mind.
Persuasion.
The morning vampires.
Just like you were the night
before when engaging in
such debauchery.
Bothersome irritants
of the weekend daybreak.
They've already judged you
up and down before
they say their first word.
Feasting eyes see a blood
doughnut to sink their teeth in
and inject "the word" into your veins
so fast it'll make you nauseous.
Well worded tongues.
20 year old virgins,
who want to talk to you about life.
Something they know nothing about
or have ever experienced.
Only what they've been told.
At this point,
in your irascible state of mind
and hungover conditions.
Natural reaction is like a hornets nest.
Scream obscenities, shoe them off
and slam the door in their faces.
They're numb to this rejection.
They'll just move on to the next house.
But what if you caught them by surprise?
You said, "yes" and invited them inside
your home.
Now you've caught them
with their pants down.
They're not use to this
kind of hospitality from outsiders.
Be cordial.
Coffee or tea?
One lump or two?
Have a seat on the couch.
Make yourself comfortable.
**** them with kindness.
Let them talk but
don't let them overtake.
They're in your house.
Full of sins and vices.
An honest man is always in trouble.
You begin the debate.
You believe in one thing,
they believe in another.
Disagree with everything they say.
If they tell you hell
is all fire and brimstone.
You tell them
it's a frozen wasteland.
Peddlers of the higher power
are like painters,
putting on the first coat of Bible verses,
in hopes that they'll stick
to the walls of your ear canals.
You listen but you don't feed upon.
Careful onslaught responses.
Turn everything they're saying around.
Send them spiraling
into a vortex of absurdity.
You've debunked what they
believe to be is true.
Fairytales are fairytales.
Women being subsidiary
to a man is obsolete.
They preach about an ancient book
that is no longer relevant
to the modern world.
Go against the grain.
They may not know it.
You may not know it.
But you're doing them a service.
Getting them to think outside the box.
Open their mind from their sheltered upbringing.
Free thinkers.
Believe what they want to believe.
Not the spoon fed lectures
and implausible sermons
that have been handed down.
They listen but not going to let
a little thing like "sense"
get in the way of what's been
ingrained inside their thick skulls.
Thank you for your time.
Come over next week
and we'll talk again.
They move over to the next house.
In one ear, out the other.
Preaching the same word.
Wasted time.
Story of my life.
Back to bed.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2016
It’s Saturday night at the neighborhood bar
And I know that’s where my good friends are
So I plan to be there to party all night.
I hope we have fun and there are no fights.
But somebody’s bound to shoot of their mouth
So my mellow party plans might just go south.
That’s often how it goes with drunk boys and girls,
But I wouldn’t miss a minute for all the world.

Knee-walking ****-faced. That’s what I’ll be.
That’s how we do weekends in our society.
We’ll play chugalug games and drain our cup
And by the end of the evening throw it all up.
Knee-walking ****-faced, slapping some backs
Probably end up in some total stranger’s sack!
Of the Hammered Hell Club, I’m a member.
The meetings run from December to December.

I like this place where everyone knows my name.
Where everyone has their own self to blame.
We’re all full grown, and nobody here’s a kid.
We each take responsibility for whatever we did.
We’re true believers in a bit of cutting loose.
So what if it means we end up puking in our shoes?

Knee-walking ****-faced. That’s what I’ll be.
That’s how we do weekends in our society.
We’ll play chugalug games and drain our cup
And by the end of the evening throw it all up.
Knee-walking ****-faced, slapping some backs
Probably end up in some total stranger’s sack!
Of the Hammered Hell Club, I’m a member.
The meetings run from December to December.

Some friends I know say I’m not too bright
To go out, and stay out drinking at night
But they don’t have the problems like me.
But it contributes to my state of sanity
To get a little crazy, and **** a few brain cells
And hang out with my peers I know **** well!
Right now I have no time for any deep sorrow.
Party tonight, leave the worry ’til tomorrow.
Twenty-nine years ago, this could have been the lyrics to my theme song; background music to my life.
Hannah A Sep 2016
In the face of infinity, I stumbled to an instigator.
I must have known how furtive the ****** dotard was.
An epidemic stereotype would barely drawl an insurgent.
The tremendous vilification acurred.
Here comes the futile virtuoso with his interminable intransigence.
The vivacity dynamic banality of an unconscious programmed robot.
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