"bleedin" poems
I'll eat you out
while you're bleedin'
I'll
eat you out til you come
I'll drink the ***
in your blood
Feeding, drowning,
I'll
show you around the
other side of sanity
Be a wolf
transform
under full moon
I'm a wolf
alone
under her moon
do you
come to meet me
at the edge of light
every night
for fun
or do you want
these --
do you need
these dark eyes
unblinking in the shadows?
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
I hurt
I think it's loss and disappointment from
"Hopes" that were never born,
Which leaves me so forlorn.
Oh, and I cry
almost every day now
and I sigh,
then he always asks why....
The pain in my heart,
Why does it go so deep?
the way I weep;
I grieve so hard,
they say I even call & cry in my sleep.
Pictures in my mind of children at play
a dream, a hope, never to be.
My grandfathers were veterans of war, they say.
Agent orange says "one out of four" you see.
Uncle Sam says "no compensation" for me,
No big family to be all around me.
I think I'll give up on me,
sometimes....
"Please make it go away!" I say,
he can't,
and so he turns away.
Our future we cannot see,
afraid to dream,
afraid for me.
Going through the motions,
trying to do what's right.
Tried all the magic potions,
but too much DNA's twisted up too tight.
Now I'm hurtin and bleedin all of the time!
Doctor says its gotta go, this womb of mine.
Adenomyosis, got into me, says I'll be fine.
But, no more babies! don't you see
I was not finished with my family!
I dont want to, but I know
I gotta go.
Now its gone,
still PMS-ing
Now I'm not healin' right!
Its depressing.....
8 weeks now, still not released
and the mourning has not eased
Anger abounds when i awake
but I can't eat,
so then I shake.
So I just cry,
and blessed be,
ask God, Jesus and the angels
to have mercy on me
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.
But we could be a family.
We could be a whole.
We could be together.
But no one could be cold.
If we could live on an island,
no hate,
no guns,
no war.
We'd look back and wonder,
what was it all for?
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.
Gangs,
tempts,
nudes,
exempts.
We sit at desk,
eating or eaten.
we laughed at or laughing.
beating or bleedin'.
We know the truth, but call it cruel.
The cruel one is we, the blind fool.
People diein' on the streets
****** puddles at our feets.
Who shot the most guns?
Who then killed them all?
Who didn't mind a casualty?
Who could be responsible?
"Not me!" we cry,
"I'm a good soul."
But even if we declined,
can I be told where they go?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
i took your **** and ran with it,
went miles into distance while you constantly clinged to the past
girl I'm tired of it.
How am I suppose to get in if he still has the original and I was givin the spare key,
I'm me and no where near him reason why you always keep runnin back lookin for a safe haven, but in reality sorry that ******** I ain't takin ,
must be mistaken,
I'm havin you second all the time I made you first,
like an unwelcomed tenet,
or low rank lieutenant,
I'm undermined, while hes underlined,
made into a bold figure,
but I stack real figures,
and don't make you feel bitter like this *****
Just don't mention why you quiver , I know the reason why you internally bleedin , stress in ya eyes swollen from the cries in the night, it ain't right.
but yet you fall back to him , then call me later? I gave you my words, last time was the last. So to bad if it didn't last, and both ends of the ties leave you to grieve and gravel on the gravel , yeah sit there and babble , yeah I ponder the river creeks for years
now im off the love boat, I skidattled , faught the more fishes in the sea with broken paddle promise not to commit unless it was suicide or a contract with a person I don't trust after marriage and can't truly settle with.
so the others who wanted me are shunned, and you ? Is of no concern to my conscience , my once brown poccahauntus who haunted
my nights , and Asian moon cake who left with the wrong shake wen I coulda move mountain cause I was the real earthquake to shake the floor beneath you and let you see the plummit to a deeper meaning. Thank for leavin.
Asmathic or not,
I remain breathing.
by Emmanuel Hernandez
aka
Linguist Musician aka Deep thought
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
The comely *****
a comely ***** o' twenty three, from yonder village banburee,
alight her sight on poor auld me, a poorly man wi' one bad knee,
she buxom be enough fer three, her legs be thick as big oak tree,
but contrary to crippled me, she sprightly be wi' two good knee.
as I took flight on that fateful night from rutting comely *****
I felt a pain, a twist, a strain, and a gutting Rumley Wrench!
yon knee was spent, wi’ geat lament, she's upon me in a jiffy
she made it clear, she said, “m’dear I want yer little ******
now twenty three ‘tis not in years, but sire, tis stones in weight,
and 'er on me wi one good knee, be too dire to contemplate,
but to my surprise, she got a rise outa my little wrinkled pecker,
wi’ her big thighs and **** the size o’ a bleedin double decker!!
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 8:13 AM UTC
give me 1 shot
1 bullet
click-clack i think i pulled it
not time for talking the cops are now looking
stupid mistake why didnt i have it on safety
god i dont know now my mind is pasting...
back and forth thinking on my decision
is it even a reason
for running and just leaving...
hes heartless with blood to cover him no shield....
hes bleedin now left in the streets
trapped inside caution tape and the ******* police
**** why me.................................
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 5:52 PM UTC
When Charlie was a young'un with a crayon and some paper
He would scribble til the paper ripped and the crayon turned to vapour
His mother would console him and she'd offer her advice
But just to drive the message home, she'd loudly sing it twice
Follow the lines, my boy, just follow the bleedin' lines
Just pick a side and stay there, always follow the lines
If you're not a fool then fake it
If you show your spine they'll break it
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
So when Charlie went to high school, how he tried to walk in stride
But the boredom of geometry provoked his naughty side
His professor would chastise him with a ruler and a cane
And, as an aid to memory, he sang him twice again
Follow the lines, young Charlie, you follow the blasted lines
Give it a try, you'll soon see, never cross over the lines
Don't be smart or play the joker
Aim for mainly mediocre
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
When assembling a wardrobe with his Allen key and spanner
He threw himself into his task in an overzealous manner
So when he called his father to report a broken bone
His old man tutted ruefully and sang right down the phone
Follow the lines now Charlie, just follow the ******* lines
Don't improvise or gamble, why didn't you follow the lines
Dodge unnecessary ructions
And adhere to the instructions
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
So in time, he raised a family, the lines etched in his head
One day he heard a buzzing from his aging garden shed
As he listened at the planking, how his face was drawn and long
For between the buzz and rustle, squeaked a tiny little song
Follow the lines, buzz-buzz, just follow the buzz-ing lines
Follow the bee before you, just buzz and follow the lines
Find the flowers when it's sunny
Fetch the nectar, make the honey
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
Buzz buzz
**
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
She was a wonder of Nature, a special
thing,
Had this lovely aura about her
The way she held herself, the way she
moved.... way she spoke her words
A real classy Lady that's for sure... a proper woman
What the hell she was doing with me I don't know.
Anyway I invited her to my house one day for tea
She so wanted to see where I lived
She was only in the door when she playfully ran her little
index finger
Along the surface of my little black table in the hall
And then holding it up for me to see, for my inspection
Revealed a big unsightly blob of dust, a most incriminating
smudge
She smiled a cute little reproachful smile
"It's true Baby", I said," I've been neglecting things of late, been
letting things slip
Ever since I met you, I've been so preoccupied
Been so preoccupied with thoughts of you
You're always in my head Girl, your... your great beauty, your...your
incredible loveliness
You've been driving me to Distraction Baby
And Hey! I like the view from down there, it's great! "
I had her sit down in my front room, she hadn't been sitting
long
When she pointed at the floor, at my carpet
"You know you've got a hole there in your carpet, a big hole"
And "Look!" she said pointing further down the room
"There's another one over there... and another!"
"What can I say Babe", I said, "you know you have me half
demented
Every night you got me pacing up and down, back and forth
You're this beautiful obsession to me Darling
You got me walking the floor over you Baby
Been thinking about you so hard, and so often
Now I plum gone and worn out my bleedin' carpet
Worn it out with all my walking".
At this she smiled a lovely kind sympathetic smile.
When I came back in the room with the tea
She said to me, she said "You know over in your corner there
Did you know you got a big cobweb and a spider ?"
"Oh! I said.....Oh Her! So you met my Spider
She's not just any old Spider you know
She... she's my... my Love Spider" I said proudly.
"Your Love Spider", she said a bit skeptically,
"Yea! I never had the heart to take her down
Why! She reminds me so much of you Darling
Reminds me of how awesome your powers are
And how futile it is to resist,
Reminds me of how wonderfully caught up I am
In your lovely sweet sticky web
Of gooey gorgeousness and outrageous delights.
With this she looked at me long and hard
Until suddenly there broke upon her lips this lovely enchanting smile,
"You know", she said,"you're so adorable you are, how I love you so".
P.S. "Phew!" I thought to myself,"that was a close one".
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 9:02 AM UTC
The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile,
the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh.
The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart anf the symphony of Bach,
a tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda.
The Poet is the blue Danube in waltz and the Swan Lake in Ballet.
The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life,
the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin.
The Poet is the fantasy of each Sunrise and the illusion of every Sunset,
the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle to dune drunk shore.
The Poet is the believer, dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair,
the magician who creates fables and fairytales from a deadly reality.
The Poet is the worker who works and works to survive,to cope in this
demanding,sophisticated,stigmatic concrete hypocratic world.
The Poet is the thief of time,with eyes flutterin on late nights,
Still loyal to the pen,His thoughts in verse,bleedin fragranted words.
The Poet is an Omnipotent servant,with a will to ask and crave to learn.
A Philosopher,whose always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom.
The Poet is an eternal slave of His Muse,the beverage of inspiration,
the spouse married to literature,adulterer of lyric,deceiver of prose.
He Knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred.
He is the artist, musician, actor,the clairvoyant of destined paths.
He is the cheap clay's mold,carved in the sculpture of the next century.
The Poet is the unfinished book,the chapter in yesterday,
He is the Nobody of today and the bookmark of tomorrow.
T H E POET IS YOU ! ! !
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 10:29 PM UTC
Court of owls
New ink, new shoes
Clocks on, I'm about to run it
Fast as my pain's Timeframe, bout to gun it
I hope you feel something better my man,
***I'm feeling something
I'm feeling something better than planned***
Tuck in the winter, dam i fall into action
springing past Morty and summer
While I'm watching TV slumber
shaking off chains of reactions
is it a new start
call it innov8ing
or maybe to our past
Definistrating
memories, atoms alternating
like the world sputters aspirating
Spit split straight portals compensating
I'm drunk on Dark matter ever oscillating
the wind turned to me
just so it could turn on me
Judgment for eternity
Experience is the same
it howled with certainty
MY Experience denied 3x
so now you hear me?
from this judgment
I'm always ripping free
I don't generate art
so you can whip at me
I might penetrate stars
The universe is an artist
so Why does it ****** us
Aint the universe ever even heard of us?
I'm the passenger and still woozy the sickness
feeling the pressure but I gotta be a witness
compassionate, no judgment
we all have our reasons
~Got a spot that I keep w33d in
Hidden with the green stem bleedin
we may have different heavens
but we come from the same soil
When others decide our emotions
Got so many reasons for defense,
reach out and tipped it for the deflect
emotions reflect the deficit of me breathe
I just shake my head
so heavy, I need rest
Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
So I adult when you consult the Occult
knowings the lotion but still decomposin
all this is music I just need to recompose it
Saved another life Now the reaper owes it
I think I've got amnesia,
Waking up to
Sir you had a seizure
Eyes always look like
Man...I wouldn't wanna be ya
Empathy
is another form of slavery we sign up for
We live and we learn
Boomerang on the mic
I go and return
But its not just about living well
its about knowing the root of life
its Taking the threads in your hands
to rack the rains and crack the chains
Caught in the dream, my ego forgets
Sleep is such a shy death
***Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
in the Korn of howls***
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 12:33 AM UTC
I did it, I ain't proud.
If you felt de pain in my urethra,
You'd know.
Had a flashback to me pirate days.
The ocean's waves crash upon de shore.
swish, swish
Me bask in da cool breeze.
Of de Zion Waterfall.
swish, swish
Me hands bleedin' from me wounds.
Turn on de tap and me can't take it no more.
swish, swish
Me urges take a hold of me.
Where to release? How? When?
swish, swish
I'm stuck in de corner, belly churning.
Bottle in de corner of me eye, me start turning.
swish, swish
I'm face-to-face wit salvation.
Fly down, piece out, release de flow!
pssssssssssss
Ahhhhhh, ohhhhhh.
What's an island boy to do?
No toilet, Mo' problems
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Life’s just a riddle that none of us can answer
we’ve got some leads, we’ve got some clues.
Still the answer eats alive like a cancer,
and the treatment is something I’m like to refuse.
It was raining
as always in September.
They were complaining
about what; I don’t remember.
Reputation staining,
or maybe full dismember.
In need of some training
or my tempers need to be tempered.
It’s true you can never go back home,
being on your own doesn’t need to mean being alone.
You can gift the people silver, gold and chrome
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.
Life’s just a puzzle that’s missing a piece;
you can try your hardest to fit in another,
or you can accept it and leave the picture incomplete,
and spend the rest of your time left to be frustrated and suffer.
It was a cold December,
some would say you could smell the ice.
I only seem to remember,
the nerve of those celebrating, bleedin’ Christ.
Start a fire but end up with embers
I think a spark or light would be nice.
So I go in search of vendors
but they’re charging far too high of a price.
The nightmare had a nightmare of its own
never learned to share even though it’s full grown.
You can gift people blankets and tapestries that you’ve sewn,
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.
Life is like a flower
it blooms out until it drops.
Each day hour after hour,
until time’s ticking then stops.
For treasure I still scour
moving so fast my steps are hops,
and the floors filthy; needs a shower
but I think I’ve broken the brooms and mops.
It’s true you can never go back home,
the path is covered by weeds and stone,
and to each town and city you roam
there will be those who ask how to skin a bone.
Aug 15, 2025
Aug 15, 2025 at 12:47 PM UTC
Raise your hand if
your confidence is reaching its limit
Well let me tell you,
don't dare believe it for a minute
A poet stands at the center
of circles of illusions
Sparked by the fire within
and burnin' institutions
They write about the current state
as far as they can see it,
as well as personal doubts
claimin' that they can feel it
Don't hand your savings over,
'cause now you pay it forward,
but life won't pay you back,
So what you say to that?
*"I say we're bein' controlled
by such an evil system;
a metal contract was forced
on lost and bleedin' victims."
"I don't agree with you, man.
We're where we need to be.
With very little control,
we risk to eat for free!"
We risk to eat for free?
"Food's a commodity!
And with overpopulation,
I say this honestly!"
"Don't mean to interrupt;
your notion of depravity
appears dumbfounded and
far from grounded by gravity."
"I say this world belongs
to kings and innovators;
hope of the people is thrown
to the incinerator."
"We're seeking liberators
mightier than the sword.
We work to buy them a pen -
weapons we can afford."
"And when their eyes are wide open
I think that writers see
the world not for what it is,
rather what it could be."
"Yeah! They're talkin' for us metaphorically,
imaginin' utopias for you and me,
questions answered rhetorically."*
The world is yours
and no one else's,
so live to give it more time
through love and being selfless.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
How to make nonsense out of bitter citrus fruits
Leave them be, already a font of nonsensical egg yolks
You do this for yourself, your own self, and no other self
Endure another fortnight daliance, you dance forthrightly
Absorb information like paranoia
The facts are lying in bed with an orange banana
How to make something lasting in a world cursed with impermanence
It cannot be done. It simply cannot be done.
The length of a breadbasket will often determine
the size of the loaf
The ratio of meat to potatoes makes nonsensical lemonade
The worst kind...worse than the worst
This document is not intended for distribution
during the lifetime of the author
Only with his passing disseminate expecting sympathy for
the old poet's story, how rarely it truly changes
The ingredients for the above mentioned nonsense
have been properly proportortioned and mixed per instruction
Take a wiff, you can smell the sweet aroma of their baking vapor
As a child I ate spoonfuls of baking powder
The aroma certainly saturates the proceedings
Almost intoxicating how it smacks your heart with nostalgia
The stupid cartoons, the National Lampoon stolen from the convenience store you hung out in
Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in
That, my friend, is the beginning from the end
That, my foe, is the bleedin' end of the road
I'm in Ian Curtis' voice, deadening repetion
Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out
Ding, Ding, the timer in the kitchen chimes it's melancholy ring
The nonsense is at this present moment complete
Ready to serve, ready to eat
and please don't choke on my words, I'm half asleep
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
I’m sitting down to write a poem
Instead of tidying up
Or dusting off the mantelpiece
Or washing up my cups
Or ironing or vacuuming
Or looking for a job
Or moving all those papers
That have settled on the hob.
Its not really a poem
It’s a reason and excuse
because when it comes to housework
I’m just no bleedin’ use!
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
*** gave me some loose words that i could spill over into your head-place
see that? dripping down the wall, the leftover space we didn't want but couldn't waste
no haste needed for the telling of time
no truth seeded as i'm bleedin my rhyme
i'm free and i'm mine
says the *** to my head
nothing left open but the door to the bed
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
The Perfect way to “Grow Up Too Fast” is by being a spectator for as long as you dream
yet you know just by submitting an application, you could be on the team
Failed by a daughter’s first hero, the warrior geared up,
Dreams still filled of rainbows and unicorns, lilies and daisies,
fireplace and wooden cabin, hot chocolate and cosy blankets,
chase towards the sunset, walks on the beach and dives into the seas.
First, it was electricity.
It got so shocking, it became cringy.
It was a nice piece of candy, with an intriguing wrapping,
you took a peek and it came alive. Chasing and haunting.
Too eager to have you taste its sweetness, too eager to have you love its taste.
Later when the obsession died down, you realised it wasn’t the flavour you want.
Then, it was bonfire. It got cold, deep in the woods.
In the dark, you see the fire from afar. Attracted, you closed in.
The fire crackled. Your new favourite sound.
You sat by the fire, telling stories of a warrior, of how she dreams in her town.
Ways to take off her shields and disarm her.
It was too hot. The fire almost melts you with warmth.
So you took off your jacket and moved closer.
It burnt you. You became speechless, as you were the one holding knives, so why were you the one bleedin?
Shortly after, a friend came over to look at those healing stitches.
But the request to show the scars were too absurd. You overreacted.
Leaving you in disgust and you zipped up your jacket.
It was just a scratch on the surface. Yet you felt you were quickly catching up.
No longer the new member on the team. “You learn fast”, they said.
The burden, the distance, the emptiness, left you as you were, as skin heals in seconds.
It just made you more familiar as a player.
Bandage ready, you are set for a new Match.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
I don’t know where the right place is
But if you ever found it
That’s where my heart would be
Pumpin’ contently
Good intentions lookin’ like veins
Stackin’ up like a spiral train track headin’ up and out
It’s the only way they grow
Up and out
Like weeds
They grow from anywhere
I had a friend who’s car was so messy weeds were growin’ in his back seat
Love is synonymous with the way weeds grow
Makes me thankful for the fissures in the foundation that holds me
On days where the money runs out
And I can’t even keep my own head above water
On days where I collapse into the fault lines I’ve made for myself
There’s still love in there
I know I’m not perfect
But the intentions bleedin’ out from the cracks in my skin
Are beggin’ for forgiveness
Like it was all that I ever wanted
I hate the fact that I push people away
And I hate the fact that I can get so obnoxious
That even my laugh sounds like thunder
beggin’ ya to punch me in the face
Go ahead and stop lovin’ me if you have to
Just know
If you ever found the right place
Maybe stumbled upon it like a hole in the ground
That you somehow missed
My heart would be in there
Good intentions
Workin’ up like weeds
Beggin’ you to love me
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 12:02 AM UTC
When I was ten, I met a man who sailed the ocean far;
he came across from England with his suitcase and guitar.
He dug graves for a living, but no man was more alive.
His creed: to live, while others just survive.
Old Ben, he was a wanderer who roamed this country 'round
and wove his tales of travel into tapestries of sound.
The tune I borrowed from a song I loved to hear him play;
the words I wrote for Ben one yesterday.
Ben, ye bleedin' Briton, it's been many, many years
since your singing and your picking of the blues has reached my ears.
He dug graves for a living, but no man was more alive.
His creed: to live, while others just survive.
His music whispered magic with its pain and with its joy
and gently cast a spell upon this fourteen-year-old boy.
But as my life was starting, I saw Ben's life start to sour,
and watched him age a year for every hour.
It's hopeless and it's helpless when you just can't understand
how the bottle Ben was draining drained the magic of his hand.
When his voice took to creaking like an ancient barn-door hinge,
he took off on a desperation binge.
Ben, ye bleedin' Briton, it's been many, many years
since your singing and your picking of the blues has reached my ears.
You dug graves for a living, but no man was more alive.
Your creed: to live, while others just survive.
Some say you're in Nashville; others say you're in L.A.,
but if these words should find you, may they find that you're OK.
The tune I borrowed from a song I loved to hear you play;
the words I wrote for you one yesterday.
Ben, ye bleedin' Briton, it's been many, many years
since your singing and your picking of the blues has reached my ears.
You dug graves for a living, but no man was more alive.
Your creed to live...I hope it's still alive.
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 10:38 AM UTC
I couldn’t have no bunch ‘a “Baby-Daddies” hanging around my life
Jugglin’ ‘em- and tryin’ a keep track of
What each was supposed to do for his
And when
And how
And how much
Naw…that ain’t my style
~
I’m the lady that he introduces to other ladies in his life
I’m the lady that he takes to dinner with his mama
I’m the lady who
Can stand up under his friend-girl’s scrutiny and
Bear the weight of his auntie’s infamous stare
I got
Way too much class to have too many babies
With too many different daddies
Right?
You understand what I mean…
~
So when I looked up
And I had ****** up
And was knocked up
By another woman’s husband…
(With my classy self)
Well… that just would not do at all
I mean I may be
PRO-Choice
But in truth
I had
NO choice
Right?
You understand what I mean…?
~
Hell,
Too many kids and girl might
Fool around and end up a “pogo stick”
And I ain’t no **** pogo stick…
You know…
“Fun to bounce around on-
But no self-respecting grown man
Will be seen in public with one…”
I had NO choice…
Right?
~
It wadn’t so bad…
Once I got past the
Nightmares of vacuums and clogged ******* sounds and the pain in my guts
and the bleedin’ ‘til I chafed and the crying ‘til I puked and the sore leaking ******* and the
Hole in my soul…
It wadn’t so bad…
~
And it had to be done
Right?
~
Besides, I lived through it…
And in the end- it’s all about ME
You understand what I mean…
You hear what I’m screamin’?
You hear
What
AAAAHM SCREEEAAAMING!!!?
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 9:12 AM UTC
The cops got called at one a.m
An she's sitting on the front step
Smokin a cigarette wearing sunglasses
Hello officer he's inside
In the bedroom sleepin
Let me see what's under them sunglasses
A big black eye and her lip is bleedin pretty good
The cops run in stomping over and on Christmas presents
The kids are cryin Daddy, daddy!
Mommy what's goin on
Their comin to talk to daddy about him bein mad
Dad is a fighter though and takes the first cop
Right in the throat with a balled up fist
The second cop got him good with his nightstick
Straight to the gut
Daddy is layin there while the good beat him on the ribs
In chains they drag him out to the car
Cussin and yellin up a **** storm
Momma sittin there cryin her eyes out yellin
Baby I love you im sorry
I love you I'm sorry
Time is gone by
Things have called down
While the pigs are takin statements an ****
Right there in the trailer park I see that girl
Some construction workers daughter from west Virginia throws her glasses on the ground
And asks to talk to her lover
He cryin in the backseat
Locked up
she broke my heart when she cradled his bleeding head to her *******
Whisperin I love you baby
With all my heart
She kissed him on the lips
A good long kiss
A movie kiss
Tommorow is Christmas baby I'm gonna bail you out
No you won't baby
We got our rent to pay
There ain't never a passionate kiss in this trailer park
That don't end with both of em tastin blood
Christmas eve in Tennessee means broken teeth and ******
And cops givin out a whippin
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 11:15 PM UTC
“Thou Shall Not Keep No Pets.” they said
On our housing estate
Maybe that’s why mum got mad
When I brought home a snake.
It was very pretty really
With a pattern on its back
Parts of it was sorta green
The rest was sorta black
“Get that out of here.” Mum cried
Racing to the loo
“Get it right away.
I’ll not budge until you do.”
I thought, ‘Well. That ain’t friendly.
Such behaviour just ain’t right.’
“If that’s the way you feel mum,
You can stay in there all night.”
I settled down outside loo door
My lonely vigil I would keep
I would not weaken in my task
Not even for a sleep
“I can outlast you mum.” I called
“Just you wait and see
And I didn’t falter, till half past six
And it was time for tea.
“What can I have for dinner mum,
For surely I must eat?”
“Toss out that ruddy snake.” she said
“And I’ll cook you up a treat.”
“I will make your favourite meal
With lots of ice cream to follow.”
I tell you that was tempting
And my tummy was quite hollow.
But, “I’ll not submit to bribery, or coercion.”
I did claim.
“I have principles you know? But I’m hungry
All the same.”
“Well go into the kitchen dear.”
“Switch the oven on to ‘Bake’.”
And when it’s glowing, nice and hot
Toss in that bleedin’ snake”
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 2:32 AM UTC
At the crack of dawn the rusted screen door hinges squealed;
he placed his hands on the push handles,
and shifted his weight forward.
Front wheels, up!
The bare rear-wheel rims scarred the mahogany threshold,
and the seat cushion squeaked a little louder
under her almost-dead weight.
*Cusco! *******
Like every other morning for the last thirteen years
the old retriever gave him a blank stare,
its glass eye bleedin’ blue.
Hold on, Edna.
They made a quick one-eighty ‘round the dog’s empty food bowl,
avoided one of the craters in the floorboards,
and came to a halt on the landing.
We’re almost there, dear.
Edna did her morning wheelie down the porch steps.
The liver spots on her hands seemed larger
in the early morning rays.
Here we go, Edna!
The wheels sank away and whispered over the lawn;
the birds stopped chirping as if they listened,
and the river birch waved good mornin’.
Almost there, now.
They passed the birch and pulled up under the apricot tree;
the blossoms’ shadows danced her to sleep,
and her oxygen tank hissed blue ******
There, there, darling.
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 5:18 AM UTC
Wutsa matter wit you?
Whirr you frumm?
You from summ furren country?
Cain’t you tawk better den at?
Murruhkunz doan tawk Inglush lie cat.
We talk good Inglush. We tawk da bess Inglush.
Ain’t nobody tawk better den us.
Irregardless of whut kine uh furriner you are
You could not tawk so ignernt.
It’s a insult tah good Murrukuhns tawkin lie cat.
You should be imburrst to tawk ataway in public.
Should be ashaymt uh yerself.
Yenno, peepo c’n perject thur ignernce
’N thur lack intelluhgunce so easy.
They jess open up thur mouths
’N let the dumbness fall out
’N thur it is, fer alll to see.
Yude thank they’d realize what dumshits they are
’N not let thur mouths write checks
Thur butts cain’t cover.
But, no. They’s flappin’ thur yaps an babblin’
‘Bout nothin’ at all, ’n actin’ the pure fool
Lack thur mamas din teach them nuthin.
Well, nuthin’ good, at lease.
Me, muhseff, I thank sumbuddy
Shoulda kicked thur butts
From here ta Sundee.
But, thass jess me.
I know thurs a buncha bleedin’ heart libralls out thur
That wanna let peepo get by with crap jess ‘cause
Sumbuddy is a Niger er ‘cause they’s Messcun
Er sum kinda ******* heathen er ‘sump’n,
But I thank thass jess wrong.
Peepo gotta talk good jess to respeck the flag
’N God n’ country. Or go home.
Yeah, go on back to whatever Godless place
You ’n your race ’n yer ideas is okay.
We rilly doan need ‘em here.
We’s good, God fearing’ peepo and hard working too.
So, if that ain’t you, *** on yer camel ’n ride
Back tah whurever you cumm frumm
Till you c’n tawk good Iinglush lack decent fokes.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
by Arcassin B & Wolfspirit
AB :Trying to pull myself out of this hole
of a downward prosperity,
confide in me or confine me,
I'm dead inside either way,
don't know how much I can take if I stay,
Down the drain,
down the drain,
down the drain,
down in it I go , from the story that was never told,
locking me away for money, this isn't charity,
lie to them , speak your mind to me,
I'm dead inside either way,
I just keep sinking more and more,
Down the drain,
down the drain,
down the drain.
WS : got my survival kit built into this psyche
pulling myself up with each downward tumble
ain't gonna let no lifetaster heart waster
selfish bleedin' souls pull me down
too busy making the best of this go round
time to take up slack and draw a new direction
upward trajectory, merely seeking perfection
this constant self effacing doubt will surely **** me
no longer waiting time to let the world thrill me
i'm a lover..i ain't no killer
juts gonna have to be my own chiller, thriller,
AB : hopefully won't drive me to being a dealer,
coiling my toes,
keeping temptation away in every step,
when dirt from the ground arose,
filling us up to be the stringy ones,
up on desire as I crept,
downward I go to an endless cycle of falling,
making me so so so so so so sick of everything,
I can't keep screaming,
down the drain,
I filled the void for days just to feel a pain,
down the drain,
you needing confirmation just seems pretty lame,
WS : no time to waste on commiseration
i walk proud, upright, secure in my station
belie the pomp and circumstance
get on with the joy, to live for the dance
this thing called life, we need only the living
to share the warmth of caring and giving
let sleeping dogs lie just where they fall
drop the issues unimportant and heed the call
each one has a gift, something to offer
instead of selfishly filling their coffer
it's like this and like that, when we get down to it
it's like that and like this, so let's just do it.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC