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Arati Apr 2018
bla bla bleep bloop.
bleep bloop...
bleep bloop... bleep bloop blop?

blee blee blee bloo...
blee bloo blee bloo bloo.

bla bla bla blee:
bla bla bleep bloop
bla bla bleep bloop
bla bla bleep bloop.

blee bloo bla?
This poem means a lot to me...
Jinxx Dec 2014
I see my reflection
I hate what I see
I punch the glass
My knuckles bleed
I'm shattered
Pick up a piece
Slit my wrist
I bleed, I bleed, I bleed, I bleed, I bleed, I bleed, I blee........
Reece Apr 2013
Purp-Purple Purp-Purple in my blood, cut it, cut it, cut it
Let it bleed, blee-bleed
Sipping on the lea-le-lean
Smoking that dank
My blood stream-stre-stream

When the codeine hits
It hits real hard
When the codeine hits
It hits real hard, hard-hard

Drop a rancher in, let it-let it splash
Splas-splash
Turn up the system, ***** let the snare drum
Crash cra-crash
Rolling through the hood, chevy dropped low
(Lo-low yeah)
My Chevy real lo-lo-low
I said my leather and wood Chevy dropped low

Johnny's in the basement mixing up the medicine
Mixing up the-mixing up the medicine-med-medicine
**** C's in the backroom letting all the ratchets in
Ratchet-ratchet-ratch-
Letting all the ratchets in

Dumping out cigar trash-tra-trash
Fill it back with the hash-ha-hash
Sip that lean slow
Bringing the good old nineties back
Ba-back
Said bring the good old nineties back
RIP
DJ *****
Big Moe
**** C
mads May 2012
BLEE
         EE
              EE
                   EED!
Dig that ******* razor DEEPER into your wrists.
Practice what you preach, and show us you're not afraid.
Don't just scratch with a pin and claim to slash them.
Practice what you preach. Practice what you preach.
uwihadkd I don't know.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
you know what's more intimidating beside speaking of a personal detail in the life of a person you know? speaking of a universal truth; there's nothing more intimidating that giving reference to a common fact of referencing life, one limb of the triad crumbles into a suckling squid... revealing the sparring partners you get to: well, you juggle with three *****, you puppeteer two.

i could understand english humour -
sure, the black comedy "tact" -
but then the anglophone world was
overtaken with comedy -
the last tier before the final bow of
downfall - the one prior comes in
the form of a "fascination"
with culinary escapades -
   prior to the last resort of humour
comes the culinary escapade -
i once understood english humour,
more than was worth since it was
reinforced by canned laughter -
but there was something to be had...
these days? maybe english humour
imploded: and it attacked its worst
ally: ***.
   make fun of ***, you're making
fun of life...
     and how isn't english humour
not peppered with too-overtly
sexualised jokes? jokes by children
of divorcees...
  tell you what: life's short,
you're *****, see a ******* before
you see a psychiatrists...
cheaper, and you get the full
workout... after all, vietnam made
the war zone pocket sized...
            i don't understand english
humour... it's beyond political satire...
these people are pushing the absolutely
wrong buttons...
  i remember watching this
video in trafalgar sq., these two white
kids, bouncing a basketball -
      then one bounces the ball
off the head of a black guy,
and the white boy is so "jokingly"
apologetic...
                  what happens next?
the black guy smashes a glass
bottle over the white boys head...
the white boys is hit unconscious:
**** me, that was funny!
            the anglophones have
really ******* the genre of comedy...
i can call them anglophones -
  speaks not good english,
but he overshadows about 100+
anglo boys in his roofing job...
     my father...
    the english are slackers in
the industrial industry: which is why
it's filled with slavs and romanians,
but at least they do their job
and never bother going to the gym...
the english ponces?
do a ****** paper-fiddling job
and then hit the gym...
            horse-hoof lickers.
          i was once acknowledged
as speaking spaghetti english:
yes, but when my father questioned me,
he didn't mind me not having
learned the full alphabet:
what am i, a trained puppy?!
         now he lives with his father,
with his father having divorced his mother
and living with a thai ****** breeding
chickens...
        guess my loss in the "friendship"
case of "affair".
            the english have actually
exhausted the genre of comedy,
they're not funny anymore...
    they're pathetic...
         i'll joke the next time i sucker
one's head off the clock into
the unconscious minutes...
          the english overdid comedy
by a mile, they're as about funny as
a donkey-riding rider alongside the
remaining three-horsemen...
slouching toward jerusalem...
                   the fact that the english
are telling are joke: reiterating that they
are: seems rather troubling.
   i don't want to know its a joke unless
i actually laugh, a comic telling me
"it's" a joke is rather troubling...
             why have the english changed
from a culinary fetish to a joke
fetish over a decade?
         ****** food makes for a good joke...
oh yeah, me, beta-male,
  when all the best restaurant cooks
are male...
                    i still will not get an english
joke: the so-called *nuance" is
only a *nuisance
-
     there's a threshold of acceptable
nuance in comedy, after a while it's like
lying: thinking you'll get away with it...
it's called: "being" subtle...
when in fact you're a vermin nibbling
on the edges of peoples' patience...
  after all you stop excusing the self-excusing
comics who want to catch themselves
excusing themselves and retire with
a backlog of canned-laughter lax.
                   no point in comedy:
if someone laughs for me.
          what's the point of comedy if
i am not the one to spot the self-imposed
prompt for a laugh?
   what am i? a ******* windowlicker who
laughs when taking a **** holding
his pecker?!
                      you conniving little
******* wanks...
                              i have to say:
the big laugh comes prior to the creeping
weep...
              no, i forgot you being "intricate"
in "nuance" -
  nuance is gone, baby, nuance is gone,
we're dealing with subversion,
and the last word ascribed is "nuance"...
i always said the english as perfecto
two-faced actors: they lie telling the truth,
as they tell the truth, while lying.
        next time i trust them with a hamster
i'll ask just more than a vet nurse...
and i don't mind pakistanis -
i just mind the english pakis -
the anglo pakis - pakistanis are fine with me,
i event managed to grit to an invite
by one muhammad to admire his
crocodile farm in kenya -
  anglo pakis? hate them like i hate
my acne skin... i'm thirty and at the ends
of puberty, yet still: the explosion of
hormones... might as well be a down syndrome
kid: l'oreal should look into extracting
down syndrome genes to make the face cream...
******* never age:
mother's aged 80, and he's shy of 35.
            n'ah, the english did comedy once,
they did it well, they didn't have to ****
off canned laughter obstructing me from
laughing at what i found funny...
   they took the complacent communist rule of:
****** laugh when all other idiots
ought to laugh...
that black guy in trafalgar sq. smashing
a glass bottle over the white guy that bounced
the basketball off his head was funnier
to watch...
         comedy these days is not
nuanced... there is no nuance:
what you hear is what you get:
   and the english way of a dog curling up
its tail between its legs and running away
is not gonna work...
                     what you said is what you
meant: given that blah blah bi bi blee boo
was intended to translate into:
         can you get me a tonne of glue?
the origins of comedy are not based upon
excuses of nuance: comedy can only
be excused by canned laughter:
not nuance.
               politics is nuanced:
if you drag comedy into this cesspool of
nuance: you're not exactly riding
a horse fully shoed into the sunset of
laughter...
   politics is nuanced:
you can't expect comedy = politics -
    to thus express: oh, we're just misunderstood
akin to politicians: nope, we're just lying
is not going to cut it...
          the best jokes are from a people
who say jokes the least:
after all, the omnipotent psychology says:
the most nervous person at a party
tells the most jokes...
    guess western society has had
its turns...
                    first they make comedy
intelligent, then they make cooking mundane,
then they make comedy excusable,
then they make wacky dishes,
     then they make comedy "nuanced",
then they get a glass bottle smashed
over their heads...
          then they make a case for
the microwave...
           and then the once ha ha become an aah...
     that sigh of relief...
         watching this spectacle:
slayer's behind the crooked cross -
   not the jews, but the greeks invented
sado-masochism of the northerns -
the greeks painted the jews as irrational -
   even though the archeological findings
disprove the greeks' little "messianic" story...
i still find english humour naked, lacking,
you can only push nuance to a certain
sisyphus moment in time,
  before sisyphus decides to give it a rest,
and toils no more, and never allows
the stone to roll up the hill,
   and interludes with pondering...
        after all: thought is never a medium
of futility... it being: the ultra-verb,
it being the omni-limb...
                             these days we know
that the englishman is no longer funny...
because his jokes are overtly plagiarised
by "excusing" himself with giving
a nuanced explanation: rather than a punchline:
comedy has a limit: on how intelligent
is can become... children laugh at calamity
short-scripted:
    do you think adults ask for a long-scripted
"base" for giggles, when the narrative prior joke
ends up being so mundane,
to be only backed up canned laughter?
euro trash, sure, but what an island of trash
to back it up...
      i love intelligent tragedy...
the english invented "intelligent" comedy:
people laugh at this sort of crap
by a mimic format: everyone knows its not
funny: then again: by laughing at it
it's peacocking to impress...
                   there's no intelligent comedy...
people who laugh at "intelligent" comedy
are bystanders, eaten up by canned laughter.
Tipon Aug 2019
Tessa III

"I believe in human rights," Chet Faker, I am trying to
find your softer side over Bose... Trying hard to forget the
ghastly scare you gave me. Smoking cigarettes and deleting
details I think you shouldn't get too deep into...
Underneath, when swimming, the story is getting more sad.

Explain to me about India, Kamasutra of many pages long,
why your part was left out. Many years have passed, dry blee-
ding the sun in shameful memories, I was on the other side.
Time is becoming a long stretch on the couch, if you remember
how you danced, exploring rhythm and ecstacy, when quietly...
From cycle poems Tessa I to V.
Im tired of being different
They tell you it's appreciated
Yeah right
But I won't be not me
I'm right
Writing poems slows down the pace of the thoughts
Traps them
Helps me remember
Who I am
I hate it
But the alternative is worse
Perhaps
Patience?
I'm tired.
Lukas Dec 2014
Words they hit me
They bruise my skin
Break my bones

Words they cut me
They slice
I bleed... And bleed..... and blee
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
only with the oeuvre: BURN! slayer's mandatory suicide: count the bullet-holes in your head; ***** by machinegun fire; suicide, suicide, suicide, suicide.*

the anglophone world is so unfrequented
by the dualism of keeping one's
native tongue while establishing a
wordsmith perfection of an acquired
tongue...
           you know how in see the failures
of assimilation? not in the terrorist,
rather, in their harem's worth of
nunnery...
                  and backlog of bad ideas...
rancoids of agent orange debacles,
mirroring the current ******* affairs
of the lesser luster-year...
           abhorrent ******* koo nee see qua
kuu nee see qua - call that japanese
for variety all you wish...
it still spell out hollywood; ditto:
noah now dies.
         problem: a slayer oeuvre -
south of heaven,
before black sabbath was all led zeppelin
        but when the native tongue comes,
you're inviting your cousins...
you want to divide the atom,
why not dividing the quanta,
or the kilimanjaro?
                can i ask in latin
how little actually means
when you state quantum: how much?
can i ask: so by dividing an atom
we get hiroshima...
  what do get obelus quantum?
prior to: how little?

qua questio pro vel qua sors occultus -
as being a question for either,
or, for...
                    i'll just nut-crack your
******* like the catholic priests / theology
teachers treated me:
kept me in the dark, never taught me
any latin,
                  blah blah blah, blah,
and a blah later who the **** cares,
the pope sure as **** doesn't...
                  qua questio pro vel qua sors
occultus is as much latin to him a she latin
you just said is to your: saudi:
a ******* ibrahim judeo mel-frázī:
blah-blah-blee-bi-bi...
             **** burns, **** stays oriental
            by the limits of ending up in mecca;
sorry to have to add: hey presto!
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
when i write in english
or remember the fact
that my mother or
father spoke it first,
i tend to stick my tongue
out, and...
look at the
belly-button of greenwich
of the supposed worth
of the world's magnetic
interests...
anyone not speaking
english always speaks
of the english as:
you always think you're
the belly-button
of the world!
    well... not after hong kong
you're not...
leeches of america,
             americancan-nah;
always with the new york
always with the l.a.
always with las vegas...
**** me!
        what's wrong with
the bible belt
and hefty steaks?!
                or anchorage?!
that's what the english-speaking
world doesn't understand...
    the entire world thinks
of them as the belly-buttons
of the entire human organism...
centre of the world
they say...
    pompous internet brats
they say...
   am i willing to defend them?
on the principle of
simply speaking their tongue?
no... not really...
   there's no infection of
american patriotism
   in europe akin to speaking
this tongue...
    it's only second...
           the english are patriotic
about football,
whim-blee-don...
     bleh bleh bleh bleh...
             st. george neutral:
it's called being polite to the point
that you'd rather a punch
in the face...
      or at least that's
                    what it feels like...
i have one disneyland in
mind at this point...
          ssss-witz-er?-yep-land.
      of no mortal, to no immortal's
gain.
they're still minded
                     as the belly-buttons
of the world...
  i swear the roman empire didn't
last,
   and the ancient greeks didn't last...
in terms of a subjective angle,
  you can almost taste the object
decaying in the study of history...
       within the orbit of repeat...
     that's how the english
are known in the continental world
of europe:
  you always think yourself to be
          the belly-button of the world;
watch the panic, when
the centre of attention shifts;
complete political paralysis,
                     and the ageing queen,
who, if celibate, would have
created a revival...
  but now the joke in the family,
or rather the ghost of diana
runs in the family...
                   that accursed family.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2023
hmm... what's "mote" up to, i wonder?
her usual bathtub god analogies
like... **** me... Edith... no Sylvia Plath
put her apple pie into the oven
instead of: reminiscence of guillotine
imitation: into the ******* oven?
how's "mote"?

what a weird /ˌmeɪnɑːʒ ɑː ˈtrwɑː,

   esp with the flirting on the train...
menopause of 50 year old women
and the ferocity of *** in males
still proposing aged 37...

ugly mothers, soul searching...
i did my psychedelic limbo of lobotomy
when diagnosed as psychotic
yet still freely available to freelance
the ancients' practices of surrogacy
because i liked Reyla
and her version of hide and seek
with three stones thrown into a pull
dive & seek... dive & seek...
horcruxes or... that other parallel...
of giving up your love to people
without killing them...

yummy... ******* yummy...
this is me watching the miracle of
India hosting the world cup of cricket
playing so well while
Diesel Australia played so **** but had
coffee or amphetamines at the final
and won...
just like i supported the Springboks on
Kauai'i... not in Kauai'i...
doof-oos... it's ON rather than IN...
island fuckery...

ah... i'm an artist at hand so i'm all:
tender-*******-sensitive with an aversion
to journalism (critique)
and the whole SHABANG on Pulitzer prize
give-aways...

i'll be drunk by 5pm and asleep by 6pm...

no! India shouldn't habe... HA B'EH won...
don't know... ask Loki or chance or fate or
who-the-*******-else-cares
to treat reality with sugar, salt or spice...
it doesn't matter...
there's reason in unreasoning "things"...
less so with the concern for names:
associative faces... oh... i recognise X...
algebra of familiarity...

like explaining to some Fawad Ahmed douch
about the difference between
the Ukraine Russia conflict and
the Israeli Palestinian conflict...
watch my elbow... it's about to do
a nervous ****... oi oi oink... pretty ink white as
the new pink... oi!

but we can be neutral with the Israeli
brigadiers... of bomb bomb hospitals...
decapitating unborn foetus?!
why is the war in Ukraine unlike
the rekindling of the war in the middle of **** know's
where?
you can't be pro-Russia...
but you can be pro-Israel...
maybe the ****** in me and the...

hardly a question of i.q.
intelligence quotient can be replaced
with: a question of intelligence... a per se Rubik
cube dynamic, per se...
you ******* stupid enough...
"******"-myopic ******* to ask
a question, the question: oculus per oculus,
an eye for an eye definition of...
******* fair bureaucratic alliance to
the thrill of Heraclitus' river?

oh wow... a glimmer of soul...
a cactus warming juice just so squeezed...
a window of azure in the sky... soul...
with the murk of overcast skies that's
the signature symptom of England...
i should have never left these isles
for happy sloppy Elvis was puffy
matras of Hawaii...
i shouldn't have played the stepdad
because it's bringing me: the **** down...

my intelligence has become a burden...
i can spent this day without eating...
i'll drink and go to sleep...
my empathy is a crutch...
my mother tells me i have a good heart:
well... the only heart i know and own...
owning is knowing...

i'm just tired, as a northern European,
of hearing the dicta of miraculous wisdom
of a desert people who can't tell
the ******* difference between
the noun hoof and the verb meow...
just so, at a supermarket...
maybe read "too late"...

  i like rugby... so i wear a south african rugby
jersey...
two black girls at the trolleys...
walk past, kiss of the teeth...
the ****?
oh right... impossible bypass...
what now? now i have to reply with:
by picking my nose you shouldn't
be here, because south africans shouldn't
be in south africa?
picking ******* cotton is not coal mining...

although, rest assured... no chocolate allure
in pigmenting coal... ***** plump ***:
oh oh i get it... "black" women angry...
so is the wind...
now i too want to drink myself into
a savvy slurp of the right kind of optics,
political, sign-language stereotyping...
BLAH BLEE        BUSY-BEE...
******'s with Raj style: oh but we lost the world
cup in cricket: compensate compensate
because Pakistan is not privy
to what Bangladesh is honing in on(!)

oh... i wasn't accused of being a pedohpile...
it was just... ever, so, not so subtly... insinuated...
well **** me: JESUS LOVES IS SUPPOSED
TO LOVE EVERYONE AND EVERYONE
NEEDS THIS SORT OF LOVE OF SADOMASOCHISM!

**** this camel jockey ethic sharing
dynamo of the desert people...
like the Holocaust didn't teach them anything...
Abeer Apr 2021
The empty glitters that rise in doubt
Without the blue of scraping through
The art of kindness in their mind,if any
Was flaunt of being so close to beauty

High on highness that tempts the blee
Toxicity and then closed sealed remorse
Nerves that raise the cliché state,if any
Were far-fetched in the very best of least

Harsh of tolerance and reluctant of interest
Still these glitters rise in doubt to be
Something close to wonder,if any
Were left that we didn't doom instantly
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
i...
almost tame myself,
in forgetting,
why the english
language,
has any,
inherent joke...
to clarify
the universal
category
bound to it...
          is... there...
something,
funny...
in... the english...
tongue...
that... can be...
  translated...
universally?!
   i want to...
hear, it!
give me, something!
the famous:
english sense
of humor...
no...
    no...
i... want...
to... hear...
the joke...
       i want to hear it...
well...
given that we're all
supposed
to have an english sense
of humor...
i guess...
we're expected
to
have a in-on
the sort
of joke / hike
we're all expected
to... play
a game of cricket to!
what?!
what? did i over-step
my...
allowance, keen'sir?
no?
  you have to better
suitor me allowances...
i fear...
i am not...
the kind, well, assured...
sir...
in...
    your most worthy,
frivolous, sire...
bow, bow, i bow most
humbly...
before your irish ***
wiping the mouth
of its anglican sir bride...
oh... most kind sir!
most kind!
          i'll *******
eat your shadow
and spit you out
without even
bothering
to keep the bones
intact...
     oh i have more hatred
in me than
any ****** will be
able to fathom
in complying
to satisfying himself
to amnesia...
labouring
with a coupling...
   no...
         i'm way way past
that...
    all it took was
an irish telling me:
i speak blah blah blee blou bloat
boo b'eeh b'ah b'ah...
   like any paddy would...
typical answer...
given that his
sister was...
              semi-autistic...
nice answer...
so... the punching bag
replies?!
              but...
i can hardly give a reply
for what amounts for
the colonial nations...
so...
           having disappeared
for almost 200 years,
like a jew might for 2000 years...
who, are, you?
i can't remember being
isolated
in a worth individual stature
akin to a colonial
ancestor...
             sense of humor?
in english?
sorry...
        what was the joke?
i don't quiet follow...
was it something funny,
dry,
                    sardonic?
oh... i'm quiet nearby, here,
as a foreigner...
       no...
i do not understand
the english sense of humor...
pause: do i have to?
         i don't understand
the english sense of humor,
as i don't understand
the current grammatical
strap-on-*****
manifests of expressing
language with some late
superiority attache...
           there is a plan B...
there is a plan B?!
there is a plan B?!
                            sure... whatever...
i was already kicked off
wattpad.com without
any reason...
any reason by now would
be like...
      any other reason
i ever found myself worthy of
this life to cite!

— The End —