Emily 2d
Jack The Stripper
On the pole
Going down
To that hole
Lingerie psycho killer
It's a smutty paperback thriller
Jack The Stripper was a real serial killer from the 1960's who targeted sex workers.
Thread knuckles into notches of your spine,
you were mine.
Held down as carotid fought hard,
to keep open your eye.
Staring vivid as clouds overtook.
I can taste you through your musk,
hear the quivering in your thigh.

Stomach acids crawled into your nose,
and petals bloom. Belly aflame,
throat bleat with each beat.
As vision tunneled from expanse
to pinhole spindle of our room.
Bared teeth like a wild animal,
eyes wide with excitement.

If you could breathe a word your smile soon'd fade.
Porcelain comtesse cum undress with maroon'd face.
Geo 6d
Blues and purples and reds
Blush and blood disperses
And rises to the surface
like milk in a coffee cup
Swirling and blending creating
a watercolour painting
In the shape of your hands
on my hips, my shoulders, my wrists
The tell-tale signs of our trysts

The bed is an easel and
your body is a brush
painting fast and rough
Lips and tongue a rough caress
making a mess of my neck
And the carnal clawing of nails
leaving a scene of angry red trails
that slowly rip up the fabric
keeping me together

And in this clandestine night
Right there on the mattress
Sew me into a new canvas
Capture the moment on my skin
So these moments may never cease
I want to be your masterpiece
Make me into art.
Paint me with your marks
Tear me apart.
Jenna Apr 7
last night he attempted to assault me

his wedding ring on
grabbed me by my hair
pinned me down
tore my clothes off in frantic lust

out of his surprise
I did not flinch
I did not fight back
I was in shades of cool

utterly apathetic
a chilling can't be bothered attitude
for I always lived for thrills
senses numbed from frequent adrenaline overdoses

his member penetrated
filling my insides with unprepared pleasure
his mouth insulting my dignity
pumping my insides raw with force

why is this supposed to hurt
why should I allow it to hurt

why cant i twist it around
grab a hold of the perpetuator
and tell him how good this feels
how i was dying for this to happen

they call this sexual assault
i call this an inconvinience
I took back my power just like that
no one can beat me in this game

I can't be objectified
I can't be used
I can't be bullied
I can't be raped

"fuck yeah fuck me harder you little bitch"

they call it assault
i call it a chance to have fun
who's the crooks in this crime now
I hope it is me
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)
DD Hicks Mar 13
Ah bliss! I, the subliminal linguist, can't distinguish this thing that you imply with such meaning. I relinquish my hold and go down screaming.

So, I melt into oblivion because life
is a trivial pursuit I've yet to latch onto, dripping between my fingers
like water through wood cracks.

Is it my own selfishness that burns
bridges between us?

No, it's yours. You stapled a label on me that can't be ripped, stripped, or torn, but I am not your fixer-upper whore.

Does my insubordination bore you?
Tell it to my "commitment issues."
The only issue is I grew faster than you, more masterful than you.

I am not your tamed shrew.

I refuse to be used by you, friendship abused by you and your confusion with your own emotions. I am not an island in your ocean of incompetence.

Frankly, my dear, fuck this.
Kate Mar 11
I hate that you wore me down to nothing
To where all of my worth was based on you
And when you liked me i was good
And when you didn't I was worthless

But it's been six months
And I still have you
But my new tattoo reads
"I am enough"
And it's right.

Fuck you.
baby angel Feb 27
my mind is fuzzy, static buzzing; i missed him.
life seeping sluggishly out of his member
into my fleshy nest, cotton candy pink, warm laundry, lava drizzling, oozing.
my body is tense, stressed muscles, i miss him.
my head is on too tight, blood rushes to my cheeks,
he lies limp on top of me and our hearts beating in sync (we’re panting).
we’re a mess in the real world (keep the real world out there; they don’t need to be
let into our four-walled kingdom),
we make art on his red sheets,
we make music on my white sheets.
it’s a creation that only we can see,
a symphony only we can hear.
it’s the sound of the floor creaking,
the sound of the bed shaking.
the way his skin glistens,
the way he clenches my hand.
(a lot of pressure i can feel in my womb)
the sound of my moans and his groans and our belting.
harps play when he thrusts into deep soil, trumpets blare when i grab tighter.
symbols crash at his climax, drums roll when he closes his eyes,
lightning strikes when i arch my back, rain falls when i flood the seas.
i keep him satisfied;
slightly nsfw...
Sin
My god doesn’t tear ribs from their nsfw relationship love . She tears the flesh from my bones. She doesn’t do it to create she does it to be selfish and to fatten herself, duplicating in my mind over and over like  a tumor until nothing but herself is left. She straddles me with an unnamed sin, sinking her dull teeth in as brown and olive mix. Her voice booms into my ear, begging me to end her in a sorry attempt at being human. Her, my goddess, dressed as a succubus dragging out my sin as she strokes my ego. I turn to a golden
idol but she still shadows me for she is monumentous. We commit sin over and over again, and I... love it.
Emily Feb 8
I cherish the music
Phantasms in the audio
The smell and the touch
When it comes to you
Dear Music Man
You leave me with a musical mania

Come on, Music Man
Take me by the hand
Honey, you’re so electric
You should come with a warning
Danger: high voltage

When we’re together
It feels like forever
We’ve got a live-wire energy
An electric sort of synergy
You’re the melody
I’m the lyrics
Melding together
The perfect composition

Good music on the score
Vibrations coming up through the floor
Our lusty touches will leave us sore
And wanting more

When your hands are on your guitar
I want them on my back
I want them on my hips
And I want your lips on my lips
And I want your voice in my bones
Shaking me
Shaking me
Shaking me

Men like you
Are admittedly a dime a dozen
But like a jukebox
I’d put a dime in you
Because I love listening
To your voice
It’s like a smooth, sustained cello line
A bass line dripping with warmth
Dropping in my heart

I was lying on my bed
Thoughts of you stuck in my head
When it’s heavy as lead
I know what you’ve said

And what you’ve sung
Will get me through
The nights
And the mornings
Where dreams
Thicken the loneliness
Of when you aren’t there
Or when anyone ain’t there
Just the slowly strangulating air
Dealt by hands
Belonging to a flutist
With the deeds of a duellist
Who makes me battle

Against the song I sing
Against the song I want to sing
Against the musical mania
Against the sing you sing
Against the song you want to sing
Against the Music Man
Emily Feb 8
I caught her eye
Through her heart-shaped Gucci sunglasses
Cherry red lips
And just as sweet-smelling,
She smiled

With scarlet nails,
Upon a slender and soft hand
She beckoned me
I was nervous
She was gorgeous

One hand on a wiry steering wheel
Belonging to a pastel coloured Chevrolet
I leaned in through the lowered window
She smiled
Her other hand carded through
A magenta mop of messy hair
She laughed

She was a woman
Wet and wild
With a mischievous smile
And a lilt in her voice,
She asked me for my name and number
I gave her a lot more than that

The ocean’s roar
Against a dodgy seaside town
She took me for a ride
And what a ride it was
Seeing the sights
Rolling on a road
Through places neither of us know
The engine purrs
And so, does she
As she laces one arm across my shoulders
From the driver’s seat
My heart skips a beat

We holed up in a motel
She had bought the room
Days ago
With her Daddy’s credit card
Her Chevrolet parked out front
Our room
Her room
Amid plasticky ferns
And stinking asphalt
Under a hazy summer cloud

Vintage dresses in her closet
Perfume bottles
Glistening on her drawers
Elegant scents
In an inelegant room
Out the window
Encased in nautical décor
I could glimpse the sea and sand
I ran my fingers
On the edge of her bedside table
She ran her fingers
Along the edge of my spine

The bed bounced
Beneath our weight
Touching, whispering
Clothes on the floor
I couldn’t have wanted more
For she was
All for me
A first like none other

She was gorgeous
A dreamy goddess
I did see go
In a pastel pink Chevrolet
Wearing Gucci glasses
And an impish smile
On cherry cola flavoured lips
Above eyes
Which were bright
Like swirling, burning stars
A vivacious light
To count my blessings
And amorous bruising by
Not based on a true story, unfortunately.
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