the shakes own my body they make it harder to type so i peck at my keyboard like a retarded animal and i keep smashing the power button every time i hit the backspace and i'm afraid the whole godforsaken thing will turn off. macs arent bad though. i might be okay.

wow this whole fucking thing just went to shit? can i even say that? i'll be fucking honest with you (aside from the avant-garde scene and the nihilistic WOKE poetry ensemble) i really don't know if i can say that or not? i mean when was PC invented? like 2008? fuck you. that was ten years ago gimme a break.

jesus man the shakes are horrible tonight. they're so bad im really just relying on autocorrect to do everything for me but sometimes it misses and so do i. i could use diction on the mac but then they would have my voice and once apple took o ver the world id just become one of their drones or something.

i know why too. maybe the "substances" im constantly ingesting. (oooh "substances" s cary word ayh right. you're an idiot.)

or maybe its the lack of creativity and originality in everything i see and hear and do? maybe not.

(taking a break to ____________).

all the bugs and trees are talking to me and you know what in not eve n gonna bother with typing at this point so if are still here then good for you,

.... six, no wait, make that, 12 bottles of wine. and some whiskey. and some champagne. and a jug of sangria. and...

it's XX:05 as I write this. so if you're awake and reading this then either you're a night-owl or you live somewhere thats not here or there.

i m really truing to see; the shakes off and I think in doing pretty well so i have to just keep it up. right?

im going to shrink down and sleep with my succulent. tomorrow will be where hell is waiting.

motherfuckers come in early. 2-3 AM. i always wake up right about then.+
thank you once again, Fritz.
There was this lass, whom I liked too tease
taking her, down upon my knees
lapping her lips
honey too drip
copious spurts, when she'd sneeze
I'm stuck in a limerick groove
unable to wiggle, or move
romping in sewer
searching for newer
nothing to do, or too prove

And no, her name wasn't really Patty ;D~~
An itch, ya just can't scratch, no matter how hard ya try
Searching for a perfect match, just an erotic do or die

The flesh and the movements, defining each and every one
Making some improvements, covert and sexually overdone

Always finding in need, rushing too body's desire
As dire and erotic the deed, welcoming passion and fire

More and more I understand, the cravings and the must
As insanity unplanned, reducing love's touch too lust
I guess that's called a man-whore :D
Back once more from the vault...
Sweetness of surrender, just go ask the steel
pounded into submission, with fervency and zeal

Holding me in her embrace, as my length she anneals
in her burning furnace, sensual pinnacle of ordeal

The sounds of our entanglement, acts as background sound
her resplendent hammer management, quenching as she pounds

An anvil is but receiver, as she delivers her liquid urgency
her stress' so relieved, my hardened answer to her emergency

Our energies so ecstatic, my anvil steady in her sway
wax and wane erratic, her release a hammer as she plays
From the vault removed
reworded and re-used ;D
frogspawn Mar 11
(TW for gore, sexual abuse, incest)

i dreamt she
deepthroated a knife
mouth settling around the blade,
lips split,
two tongued succubus.

tip of the knife
dragged round and round
her plump, sweet thighs
carving fishnets in flesh.

are not a father.

a father shouldn’t
want to ram his
insatiable cock
into his


fish on deck
choking on air
spluttering, scales fluttering,
entwined in honeycomb plastic.
this was very difficult but ultimately very satisfying for me to write. my ex's father was an abusive cheater who expressed interest in her, and she'd occasionally tell me about her nightmares or experiences. it really affected me, as someone with a very stable and loving family background. i was really scared, and confused, and most of all disgusted. i remember once i leaned over a toilet at 3 am and wanted to gag so bad. abusive parents can burn in hell. when your child has to recover from their childhood, youve failed miserably at being a parent and a decent human being.
if you have abusive parents, my heart goes out to you. if you have been sexually assaulted, my heart goes out to you. stay strong i love you.
also, fishnets as in the stocking things are supposed to represent sexualization and in the last stanza theres a ref to a fish being trapped in a net (a fish net...!)
sara Mar 7
I've got too many books that I just don't read
and too many lines which I need not speak
and so many times I still forget to breathe
So darling, you're not what I need

I've so many thoughts running through my mind
and too many lines in queue for me to write them
and so many mates who could do with good advice
So darling, I've not got the time

I've seen too many films and I've seen this bit
I've had too many drugs and I know this trip
I can't play the guitar but I've played this riff
So darling, why don't we just leave it?

Sometimes I speak slightly at an angle,
or blow money out quick like a candle.
Sometimes I'll be too heavy to handle
so don't pick me up because I could be fucking fragile.

I've been to all the shows and I know this song
and I'll still get the key, tune, note, words wrong
and I've a long list of friends where it's been way too long
I'm sorry, you're not what I want
why do ppl need a justification when theyve already been turned down ??

half poem half song idek just a spitball

Sorry about the punctuation
Jeff Gaines Mar 1
[In order to "Get" this in it's intended inference,
you MUST read her poem first.
It will make more sense and come off more "correctly" then.]
Click on the link in the comments section below.

I would never pay to lay with a woman.
Not in desperation or loneliness, what ever you'd call it.
I'd sooner wrap the money around the column of tension ...
Do my deed and return it back to my wallet.

There are BILLIONS of women ...
All soft and warm.
I love their company ...
Yes, that is my norm.

But there is something
they must understand ...
They can always be easily replaced
With EITHER of my hands!

So this warning ...
It should be heeded ...
I've NO fear of your "Power of the P" ...
And no batteries are ever NEEDED!

To use your precious womanhood as a weapon ...
To this, I can only say "Ouch!"
Such a crime to abuse expression so sacred ...
So I guess I'll go sleep on the couch!

I'm sure you know, that I love it there, in front of my TV ...
You must forever keep this in your head.
And in retaliation, there I will stay ...
until you BEG me back to our bed!

All this talk about toys and hands replacing
something we all know that we need and we'd miss.
All this nonsense is just blowing smoke ...
because NOTHING can replace ...
a warm and passionate kiss.
(Hysterical Laughter!)
This poem is a light-hearted poke at Cné's poem "Just Toying With You"
Enjoy it here:
She is awesome.
It is NOT directed at her. We have never met. It was a whimsical "retaliation" of sorts, all in good fun.
It is also the FIRST EVER "erotic" (if you can call it that) or explicit piece I have written ... here or anywhere.
Good Times!!
TSPoetry Feb 27
The room it smells of lilac  
there's a robe upon the floor  
searching through my memory  
when she walks on in the door  
long hair of silk sashaying  
her breasts are pert and firm  
a smile so inviting  
whispers " now it is my turn"  
of where and how I got here  
is not of due concern  
she ties me to the bedposts  
dripping candlewax as I start to burn  
her lips and tongue caress me  
from my toes up to my hips  
I beg and scream for mercy  
as she teases my stiff oiled tip  
my head leans back my eyes roll up  
her nails rip apart my skin  
minutes turn into hours  
in this game we both will win  
I picture the wild seductress  
as she disappears from my sight  
still wondering if it really happened  
or was I dreaming the whole damn night
zebra Feb 22
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, bells, piercings,
through her nipples and nose

her tongue split
each side wiggling independently

she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
Satan's little whore bitch
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big cocks and pastry puffy pussies the better

all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to dicks and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
a fuck it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
orgies like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream

she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up

do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself

bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage

my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken fuck madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden

black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
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