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Seema Dec 2018
Pooled in disgust
In the arms of a fool
My skin seems to burst
By his lustrous drool

The evil desires that spill
Gives shivers to my soul
It is of not my will
To be in such a role

Touched to places
Flames rise, high in pole
Strapping the laces
Seeking his ultimate goal

The pain aches pleasure
In his deaf ears
Nibbling bits to bites
My cries he hears

Now, on the natures bed
He pushes me back
Gasping over my head
Clenching his teeth on my neck

As I cried and he hissed
Like that of a snake
Crawling and being kissed
For a 'NO', he could not take

The nightmares spread
With a foul smell
Sheets covering red
From an unknown spell

His breath fading
Laying heavy on my chest
I pulled myself together
To be with the rest

Red zone or prostitution
Is not a self led to many
Neither it's an institution
To earn a penny...



©sim
Spilling thoughts. Not my story.
Francie Lynch Dec 2018
They warned us not to worry,
Just do our best in school;
Those worldly professionals,
Taught us work-to-rule.

They did a few case studies
On twins from day of birth;
There's a fifty-fifty chance,
A will be born first

They are urban fighters,
Of fire, crime and blame;
They live in high rise condos,
They return from foreign lands.

They  wait over subway vents,
Their hearts and heads are bent;
They show-up in walk-ons,
They go without for Lent.

They fly in and out of space,
They don't identify with race;
They're picked up for vagrancy,
They dance cautiously in the street.

They volley warning shots
Across our private dreams;
They sign and seal a peace accord
They're sincere to a degree.

They contribute to the run-off,
And spiked our holy water;
They enlisted Moms and Dads,
Then slaughtered sons and daughters.

They made rings from ivory,
And pale lamp shades from skin;
They list dissipation
As a personal sin.

Then they did unholy things
With wood and nails, then atoms;
They tore at our goodly earth,
Wreaked havoc with their mapping.

They distilled our alcohol,
Made smoking so appealing;
Then they rang the tower bells,
And preached we had no feelings.

They dug deep for wishing wells,
Grew stuff to **** our germs;
They bestowed us rods and reels,
And spades to dig our worms.

They connected us
Through wireless touch;
They counseled us on loneliness,
And the traps of busyness.

They pronounce death is art
When they hang it on a wall;
Then blame it on our women,
In a scene based on our fall.

They're newsy opaque,
In love or hate;
They are the ambiguous,
The they, them and all of us.
In fashion with non-gender pronouns.
Lemonade Dec 2018
"What is an indulgence?"
"A crispy sun-dried towel after a nice warm bath."
The lazy soul replied.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2018
.
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy.  On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go.  I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
.
Brian Dec 2018
Engaging oneself
Mental *******
Useless, yet intoxicating
No pleasure, but one’s own
The syringe of lies
Dripping slowly

Cerebral synapses
Mass-debating collective
Resources wasted
Wandering a wilderness of chaos
Loneliness
Pain

Piercing needle of utterances
Dripping
Doctrine enabled
Minds not our own
Fear
Control
Nickols Nov 2018
Her body only existed where he touched her.
Twisting and writhing to his hands upon her flesh.
The rest of her evaporated into smoke.
             Dispersing into the nights air from a masterstroke
Pablo Saborío Nov 2018
I am observing the world

whose very act of existing

has made us claim

that it is the only world to exist.



I am observing

the shadows of the sun

when suddenly the monkey

appears again, opening

that window

below my language.



It picks up all my words

and chews them, only to spit

them out while producing

a grotesque sound of pleasure.



I’ve seen this monkey many times,

he comes from the world within

that is populated by innumerable monkeys.



They all seek the only thing

they claim is real: monkeyhood.

Monkeyhood is hidden

deep in their jungle,

it can be eaten, soft caramel-like

substance that it is.



But only a few monkeys are able

to reach this sacred core.



The monkeys that visit me

are those that for whatever reason

have stopped seeking monkeyhood.



They would rather appear

unannounced in this world,

to taste a few fragments of illusion –

as I believe they once called it.



I sit watching the shadows of the sun,

here below the clouds while I describe

the indistinct quality of being alive.
quinn silverman Nov 2018
boney bodies bending
broken boys
malnourished after flourishing
in the sweet sand she’s licking
herself into epiphany
****** hum, and the flavor was sour

going through the motions
***** fluidity then her mouth opens
bruises on wealthy knees
i am sweaty and i shriek i am laughing and then i shriek again
an intersection of trauma and pleasure
what did it mean to u?

i don’t wanna wake up pathetic, but every morning i find my will power wet with drew
sitting in the yard like a child’s toy
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