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Colm Jul 2019
I’m not sure which is more pleasurable

      The last ounce of sugar on my tongue
      The echo unsung
      Or the quiet words in perfect unison

Sung, a most capable accompaniment
The kind which doesn’t make me feel alone

In the silence of a broken room
Your song sings words to the reticent me

Make me feel both old and new
Words really do mean more at night, like a song.
Stanzas a few times read  
and I must tell you I have become a tad sad

I regard it is as if you are talking to God
and you are ****** correct on the right spot

I know you uttering the most devotional prolific prayer
retrieving tranquillity balm of a blissful joy.
you are gracious and humbling in your devotion
you exhaled fresh divine air in our community.

Your stanzas are a great pleasurable read
and the Blessings in Abundance be upon us all

thank you so much that I may be here to see you praying
to make my dreams come true and be forgiving
I do hope you would follow too,
then happiness would come to us so true

in creating this sweet reality nowhere but
now here….

© Sylvia Frances Chan
Copyright Protected
AD. Wednesday the 17th of January 2018.
@ 21.45 hrs.P.M. West-European Time
Delusional Minds Mar 2015
I can't see you there but I feel you,
I know that you're near cuz I hear you,
I say i'm not scared but I fear you,
tell me to beware and I still do,

I feel you,
slowly burning me alive,
every exhale surfaced to the skin comes from deep inside,
I can feel you swimming in my mind torching both my eyes,
drilling in a little deeper every time,
feeling it subside just to come back full force and give a rattle to my life,

electric charges running through my body,
faces all around, I can hear em calling,
being hollowed out, now I think im falling,
dropped me underground so they can see me crawling
on broken knees-
Martin Narrod Jun 2014
Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.

— The End —