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mark soltero Feb 8
my propensity  
to manifest demons into people
consistently projecting
the tragedies of my own imagination
into other people
my desire to eject
leaves me like the cockroaches
hungry and filthy
but i didn’t make me
right?
theres nothing in me that wants it
why can’t i starve
the deep hate
eat the world’s abundance
decadent and I, undeserving
i’m tired of not feeling something
only feeling nothing
drive my skin against the walls
that i built up
just to long for them to fall
but it’s not me
no accountability
ready
it’s you and me
i need purity
to know you want me
not just me in you
you make me feel nothing close of void
sleep with me
just me
i promise i don’t see
"don't come inside"
usually, in fact, almost always
I would pull out
with a split second to spare
and ******* all over her
turning her navel in to
some sort of overflow ***-gutter
proceed to roll over
panting like an old dog in the sun
roll a cigarette whilst she
wipes us both down with some nearby
toilet roll and suggest
we watch something on her laptop
this time was different though
I pulled out and she lays there
and starts tugging me off
entirely unnecessarily
as though both of our lives
depended on it
and I'm glad she did
I started spraying hot **** everywhere
and I think to myself
"I'm painting the ******* walls!"
it was nothing short of sensational
...
and it all seemed very Bukowskiesque
Tyler Matthew Jan 18
Eat it up while you can, pig!
Your future's looking grim.
Head down in a pig trough,
spilling at the brim.
Farmer stands with his shotgun.
That look is in his eye.
You're squealin' now like a loose wheel,
wishin' you could fly.
Running 'round in the pigsty.
**** stains on your pig chin.
Fear keepin' your eyes wide.
Crawlin' out of your pig skin.
Eat it all while you can, pig!
And don't forget to chew!
The dinner bell's a-ringin'
and we've got plans for you!
Inspired by "Pigs (Three Different Ones)" by Pink Floyd, from the album "Animals."
Fheyra Jan 2018
A bloom of sunshine in a day
Playfully, picking up flowers for a fine treat
The paint of pastel that allures eyes
A sort of smile, a kind of way
Of a certain imagination of a happy gray
This will end a premonition for a day

A messy room for such a baby
Waking up, staring at a mirror; saying,
"You're a child"-- quite deceitful to look at it
Starting the day with a thing
Seemingly, suspicious to talk about
A delighted grace dives as i open the door
A place condemned of mockery and derogation
Sought as heaven for bullet heads

I stood on the crack
The party begins with a slap
Raise a cup! Raise a cup!
Green faces hover the floor
Crawling for legs, it's for sure
All come to see my beautiful
My rose, my bad
Skin as baby's lips
An adorn, i tremble
Carried me into the woods

One night, a filthy paradise
A job to have it inside
Pour with sweat over my body
Strangled my garments to shreds
Shackles, chains, ropes
Arms stretched, legs loose
Bend over 'til a joint injects
It is a norm for me
Oh how, why it shuts me
Please daddy, don't you grab me

As a prize, i puked 'em all
An illusion of running, always cuts me
My reward can't give me toys to play
A thousand compliments I put on my dress
While they see nothing on me
It thrills to call me pretty
Well indeed, I was trained
As a subject to pet a doll
They ask me if i want a candy
Who would ever thought, I was the sweetest candy

I know, it would be like this
A history of my shattered daydream
My haunted misery
Behind beauty is a lost innocent child
I am pretty baby
Oh why they throw me?
Children are precious. They should not be thrown or abused. Don't let the innocence of a child be ruin because it's a gift.
DIPTI DHAKUL Mar 2020
I don't want to get cleanse
I want to be messy
I want to be nasty
I want to be *****
I'm filthy and I love to be filthy
I fall sick but I love it !
On Lighter Note!
Dominique Mar 2020
The dinner guests have all agreed:
"Why yes, we love the poor;
The softened little sunken eyes-
What's there not to adore?
The way they dress in raw distress
It's flaunted like Dior-
For heaven's sake, there's lots of steak
Who's for a little more?"

Now that the meal is over
The subject's come and passed
The dinner guests compare their crests
Sat smugly on their ***
Now that the sun is setting
The poor rise from the streets
It's time to stumble round again
And scrounge some food to eat.
Salmabanu Hatim Jun 2019
Cockroach,  Cockroach , what are you doing in my soup,
In the kitchen I was playing hoop la hoop,
And I fell in you soup mister,
It's hot and I am getting blisters,
Scoop me with your spoon,
Before I swoon.
Please don't shout or scream,
I will be thrown out of the kitchen of my dream,
Filthy and messy,
With rotten fish, slimy and smelly,
Red meat in blood,
And fungi on sauces and salads with mould,
Never scrubbed,the kitchen,
For thousands of us it's heaven.
Be a pal,
Go away with your gal,
At least I did you a favour,
Not eating in this yucky place forever.
25/6/2019
chitragupta Mar 2019
As children,
playing outside
to our hearts' content
was only when
we came home filthy

As society,
then why must we
clean up our act
and turn a blind eye
to censorship?

-X-
Remembering George Carlin and his comedy.

"Better a witty fool than a foolish wit."
-Feste, Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare
Ciel Dec 2018
War
War.
One syllable.
Three letters.
Such a simple word.

Why then does it have such an immense power?
The power to break people.
The power to annihilate.

It rips children from their parents,
Tears lovers from each others’ arms.
It steals our youth
And smears our last days.
It divides the most united people,
Destroys the most beautiful of countries.

It is the greatest of hypocrites.
Some claim to fight for their countries,
Some for their oh-so-loving religion,
And others for their family's honour,
But all are driven by none other
than their own poisonous ego and pride.
And if not the individual,
The institutions sending them
To their certain demise is.

It kills most,
And those who escape it
Are left with a fate far worse than death:
An eternity of guilt and sorrow,
Of agonizing memories
And restless nights
Wondering what could have been.

It is filthy, corrupted and tainted.
Tainted with the crimson blood of the fallen,
The deep scars of the survivors,
The shrill cries of the mourners,
And the money of those in power.

And the greatest of its crimes:
The innocents pay the highest price.

You see those fancy politicians with tailored suits
standing in front of the crowds preaching
about the bravery of the people
who are being desensitised to killing
and taught to not feel or think but just obey?
They are not the ones who lay awake at night
too scared to close their eyes,
too afraid of their own minds.
They are not the ones who were told they were heroes
and yet came home to find themselves without support
sleeping every night on the cold concrete
in front of some big-name store whose owner probably
profited off the same ******* war that led them there.
They are not the ones who will try for the rest of their lives
To heal the generational trauma they inherited from their parents.

No, see those fancy politicians are going to go home tonight
to their big fancy house in their big fancy car protected on all sides.
They are going to have a great night of sleep
knowing they have just gained new funding for their campaign
by sending innocents to the slaughterhouse
so that the CEO of some oil company can make more money.
They are content knowing that
they have successfully put a price on a human life.

War.
A word that should evoke negative feelings
and yet has been so normalized that we no longer respond to it.
War.
A word that describes the most atrocious of realities
but that has somehow been made into a badge of honour.
War.
A word that should be feared and despised
but is instead weaponized to manipulate the people.
War.
A word that should never be the first option
but has become a shortcut for greedy rich people
with political influence to obtain more power and become richer.
War.
A word that was said to be associated with "barbaric", "uncivilized" people
but has somehow mostly been used by the "civilized" ones
and is now one of the pillars of modern capitalism.

War.
One syllable,
Three letters,
Just a ******* word.
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