Lily Thibert Jul 17

If I told you my favorite colour was yellow would you believe me?
Even if I was smiling and bouncy and happy as could seem.
You would believe my lies in yellow that happiness in it beacuse i truly love brown but you would question it cause it's ugly and gross and not smiley and bouncy and happy as could be.
But separate brown take it apart peice by piece and see the colour it took to make brown see the yellow and greens the blues and reds the purples and orange and see all, all the effort put in to brown pick it apart and see that I do want you to pull me apart too,
see me like brown,
see what I took and place to make it me to make me seem happy as could be seem look at the yellow colour i say so I seem like me
My favorite colour is brown but you wouldn't believe me beacuse it's ugly and gross and doesn't seem happy as could be.

skye Jul 11

your cheek is pressed against the grass
your face droops down towards the dirt you'll be trapped under
your lips are grey and chapped
your elbows are stiff and your skin is rubbery
your eyes are drying out and your eyelids don't stick to them
your body against the earth is slimy and wet
your skin is turning brown and rotten
and maggots are eating your tongue and crawling into your nostrils
and your ears will never hear your beloved
and your eyes will never see your beloved

dying isn't beautiful
j Ernest Jun 7

sugar.



the girl with the big tits sleeps with the 87 year old guy with the tumor on his scrotum and lesions on his ass.

she sometimes licks the lesions for an extra
$4,506.

and for another $7,054 she'll suck on the tumor-

and for
$23,341 she'll swallow his dirty cum, and choke on his grey curly hair

and for
$86,066 she'll eat his toenails and get assfucked and attached with clamps on her pussy.


and for $100,000 he'll finally take a chunky dump into her mouth and she eats it whole grimacing.


all I want for free is just someone to relate to,
or not really

k
James Jun 2

Went to the bathroom to sit on the pot
I like to poop while I'm on the clock
There wasn't any paper
I used a finger scraper
I might better had used my sock

Sorry, I can't help myself today
j Ernest May 31

i rolled
over


and i felt
it licking my face,

then it crawled up my neck
and into my nose.

it was slimy

yet smooth at the same time

and the taste of puss
seaped into my esophagus.


and as it sat in there for a few minutes

i felt the eggs
begin
to pulsate
,

and the tingling
from the hatchlings

as they began
to skkitter from within.

and as all this happened
,
i continued to lie,
almost compelled
to see this beautiful miracle play out.


and then i brushed my teeth

and went to bed a second time

and had a glass
of grape cider
and she nestled beside me and told
me how
i was going to be a great husband--

and that her babies were
strong
from the milk

and kisses.

milk and kisses
always
and always

Goddess above me!
Snake of the slime
Alostrael, love me!
Our master, the devil
Prospers the revel.
Tread with your foot
My heart til it hurt!
Tread on it, put
The smear of your dirt
On my love, on my shame
Scribble your name!
Straddle your Beast
My Masterful Bitch
With the thighs of you greased
With the Sweat of your Itch!
Spit on me, scarlet
Mouth of my harlot!
Now from your wide
Raw cunt, the abyss,
Spend spouting the tide
Of your sizzling piss
In my mouth; oh my Whore
Let it pour, let it pour!

You stale like a mare
And fart as you stale;
Through straggled wet hair
You spout like a whale.
Splash the manure
And piss from the sewer.
Down to me quick
With your tooth on my lip
And your hand on my prick
With feverish grip
My life as it drinks—
How your breath stinks!

Your hand, oh unclean
Your hand that has wasted
Your love, in obscene
Black masses, that tasted
Your soul, it’s your hand!
Feel my prick stand!

Your life times from lewd
Little girl, to mature
Worn whore that has chewed
Your own pile of manure.
Your hand was the key to—
And now your frig me, too!

Rub all the much
Of your cunt on me, Leah
Cunt, let me suck
All your glued gonorrhea!
Cunt without end!
Amen! til you spend!

Cunt! you have harboured
All dirt and disease
In your slimy unbarbered
Loose hole, with its cheese
And its monthlies, and pox
You chewer of cocks!
Cunt, you have sucked
Up pricks, you squirted
Out foetuses, fucked
Til bastards you blurted
Out into space—
Spend on my face!

Rub all your gleet away!
Envenom the arrow.
May your pox eat away
Me to the marrow.
Cunt you have got me;
I love you to rot me!

Spend again, lash me!
Leah, one spasm
Scream to splash me.
Slime of the chasm
Choke me with spilth
Of your sow-belly’s filth.

Stab your demonic
Smile to my brain!
Soak me in cognac
Cunt and cocaine;
Sprawl on me! Sit
On my mouth, Leah, shit!

Shit on me, slut!
Creamy the curds
That drip from your gut!
Greasy the turds!
Dribble your dung
On the tip of my tongue!

Churn on me, Leah!
Twist on your thighs!
Smear diarrhoea
Into my eyes!
Splutter out shit
From the bottomless pit.

Turn to me, chew it
With me, Leah, whore!
Vomit it, spew it
And lick it once more.
We can make lust
Drunk on Disgust.

Splay out your gut,
Your ass hole, my lover!
You buggering slut,
I know where to shove her!
There she goes, plumb
Up the foul Bitch’s bum!

Sackful of skin
And bone, as I speak
I’ll bugger your grin
Into a shriek.
Bugger you, slut
Bugger your gut!

Wriggle, you hog!
Wrench at the pin!
Wrench at it, drag
It half out, suck it in!
Scream, you hog dirt, you!
I want it to hurt you!

Beast-Lioness, squirt
From your Cocksucker’s hole!
Belch out the dirt
From your Syphillis soul.
Splutter foul words
Through your supper of turds!

May the Devil our lord, your
Soul scribble over
With sayings of ordure!
Call me your lover!
Slave of the gut
Of the arse of a slut!

Call me your sewer
Of spilth and snot
Your fart-sniffer, chewer
Of the shit in your slot.
Call me that as you rave
In the rape of your slave.

Fuck! Shit! Let me come
Alostrael—Fuck!
I’ve spent in your bum.
Shit! Give me the muck
From my whore’s arse, slick
Dirt of my prick!

Eat it, you sow!
I’m your dog, fuck, shit!
Swallow it now!
Rest for a bit!
Satan, you gave
A crown to a slave.

I am your fate, on
Your belly, above you.
I swear it by Satan
Leah, I love you.
I’m going insane
Do it again!

Need educated guesses on this, as I am not the real author of this poem, and that I am glad. The man who wrote this poem was Aleister Crowley, if anybody knows anything about him from reading his books, I would like to know your true opinion. I think this is true,perhps the extent of Crowley's deprave behavior is somewhat caught in this poem he wrote for one of his disciples.
eF Mar 26

The words just don't flow.
Like pieces to a
puzzle,
With no where to go.

Ive been blah lately.
I have no motivation to write.
Feel like I've lost my spark.
Feel like nothing flows anymore.
The words rhyme.
But have no purpose.
I feel the same.

Trying to keep this outlet alive..
spaceghost Mar 21

I walk with you
with only the streetlights
as our chaperones.
My pace slows down,
trying to stretch this
10-minute walk
for 10 minutes more.

Your voice is steady,
but I hear how it cracks
like the ripples on a lake.
I pray to the stars
that the tears in your eyes
are from the smog.

We walk on the side of the street,
arguing over who gets to guard the other
because we know we'll both
walk to the middle of the road
at one point or another.
I win
and push you closer to the side,
feeling your hand in mine.

We reach the gate.
I make you promise
that you won't talk to strangers,
that you won't walk by yourself.
Our pinkies link,
and I feel five years old.

You go home.
I pray once more
for more time by your side,
but you have already crossed the road.
I change my prayer for patience
until I can make you mine.

// happy poetry day!! sorry for the lack of content. i lost my muse for a long, long time.
MindsPalace Mar 13

It wasn't that bad, that trip to the ER,
And my sickness didn't leave a physical scar,
But I must admit I got carried away
While making that soup one fine winter day.
See, my friend went and dared me to make the stuff,
And to this day it could've been a bluff,
But when I am dared, it's a serious matter,
So I started to whip up a little bit of batter.
Right into the fridge, my hands were busy,
Making that soup really got me dizzy.
A fish head, salsa, old dried beans,
Mustard, spinach, and coffee creams.
That glop must have boiled for hours and hours,
And that kitchen, I swear, it needed a shower.
At any rate, I don't yet feel regret,
But I'll tell you right now, the key word is yet,
Because I still have a big medical issue,
And on top of that, no social life, too,
But the occasional heart attack won't make me droop,
Because I loved making and eating that soup.

Esther Mar 12

Dearly departed,
Pray for me
In life I still need to excrete
Not only faeces but thoughts
Just like food in my mouth
I chew possible sounds
Until they are… reproduced
I think
What I thought was art
Is now a bit bitter on my tongue
The saliva must be tainted
With odours I’ve inhaled
Because this rubbish I taste
Is too flavoursome
I know this isn’t appealing
But neither is the finished product
Unwrap what you can
Of what we toss down to you
And swallow what you think is sweetest
You know it will all be… sour
I think
What I thought was lasting flavour
Turned out to be flesh
And even as I write this
I feel the unpicked hair in my teeth
So that when I create
I am secretly painting in words
From the inside out
I am closer to you in this way
But in that way-
Not so much.

Dearly departed,
Pray for us
In life we must run to you
But in living we must wait
Amongst the rotting peels
We left in our backpacks
For too long
We’ve learned to speak
About the smell
But in doing so our breaths
Stink up the air
And our legs are getting stiff
Sitting cross legged and festering thoughts
Bubbling images we wanted
To forget
God, this is a witch’s pot
But she forgets to stir it on hot days
And we decay
Faster than you do, I swear
The curses don’t become me
I know, the curses
Must be me and them.

Dearly, Departed,
Pray, and still listening
I’m sorry about the foulness of everything.

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