"cleavers" poems
in a taut black dress
you brush by me
you are
dark summer fruit simmering hot
a sopping estuary
i gather you into me
you cascade like an undulating cat
giggles like trembling gelatin
cherry kiss lips
agile muscle shifting
pleating like soft furs
against my thunderous chest
your tremulous tongue rupturing
like spiced chrysanthemums from heaven
i inhale your lavender breath
your saliva melts stormy mouth up-leaping
i eat your soul
and paradise ********
licking honey rainbows
filling my mouth a thousand times
and a thousand more
its never enough when some one has your heart
suffocate me in your drooling mouth
your body is my aviary
and hot house of man eating plants
i run to your teeth
beautiful cleavers gleaming
shivering with excitement
from your dragging bites
my blood languishing at your feet
have no regard for me
eat my love
i live to be swallowed by you
i hold you through the night
all dire raptures
dark in mystic paradise
tangled in your hair
may mourning never find us
torrid scorched from flames infernal
black candles uncrossing pasts
devils **** your adoring toy
kisses never ceasing
hot weather nostrils steaming
your flexed body writhes
a royal contortion
your heart cleaving
so that i may like a sun
consume your darkest edges
bitter chocolate so sweet
to fill griefs mouth with ecstasy
my heart aches like a siren of echoes
calling to you
shaking your gates down
you are a titanic gravity
and i'm forever tumbling
like eternal burning ashes through cobalt night
it is a steep decent into heavens arms
as i crumble
all smashing diamonds
and hissing flames
into open wounds weeping glitter
your chin jutting
throat stretched
while pulling the roots of your hair
exposing arteries pulsing
stuffing myself on your marrow
you plume like a volcanic moon
showering me with spooling stars
and butter **** kisses
ill turn you into my glistening little *****
all swollen tears for more
rituals of adoration
kisses like monsoon rains
i look up at your supple form
your haunches my temple
worshiping you
smothered in heavens jaws
you cascading pantie-less
in a taut black dress
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
The engine is killing the track, the track is silver,
It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.
Its running is useless.
At nightfall there is the beauty of drowned fields,
Dawn gilds the farmers like pigs,
Swaying slightly in their thick suits,
White towers of Smithfield ahead,
Fat haunches and blood on their minds.
There is no mercy in the glitter of cleavers,
The butcher's guillotine that whispers: 'How's this, how's this?'
In the bowl the hare is aborted,
Its baby head out of the way, embalmed in spice,
Flayed of fur and humanity.
Let us eat it like Plato's afterbirth,
Let us eat it like Christ.
These are the people that were important ----
Their round eyes, their teeth, their grimaces
On a stick that rattles and clicks, a counterfeit snake.
Shall the hood of the cobra appall me ----
The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains
Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
The world is blood-hot and personal
Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
There is no terminus, only suitcases
Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,
Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.
And in truth it is terrible,
Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.
They buzz like blue children
In nets of the infinite,
Roped in at the end by the one
Death with its many sticks.
6.2k
her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty
blood and tears, a royal jelly
merciless kisses like blazing pyres
she cries through a night prayer
my push pin princess;
a crimson petal
nerves edge;
jutting ******* seeking cleavers kiss
to serve
to serve
to serve
smiling for a relish of wasps
she knows she is loved
a loved red faced surprise
**** mouth, red chirping sparrow
wax teeth melting
succubus, **** flower
gratefully crushed under foot
toes like musical notes
little pearl ruins
grave stones
whipped cream butter cookie in chains
stipule corridor
**** plume
serrations gush, a singing Dahlia
ripped rose, thorned and curt
plush flames
her skull a throat
her liturgy
weeping, licking gods bulging colossus
wakes her inside
giving her religion
sacrificed on a crucifix of *****
**** of heaven
a burning church possessed
drooling supplications
lustrous saliva web drapes trembling downward thighs
a glutinous chandelier
melts like silk around ankles
crystal silt on scorched heels
to serve
to serve
to serve
her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
I was a flailing phoenix
Trapped underneath a waterfall
Unable to rise from the ashes
While being continuously extinguished
Until you constructed a dam
With the flotsam from my heart
I opened my wings and emitted light
Fearing waterfalls I took my fire flight
I was elated to have migrated
Where the weather was tropical
And the conditions seemed optimal
But your aggravating absence
Endeared an enigmatic essence
A vengeful apparition
That conjured rain
I desperately craved your protection from the elements
Until I noticed the precipitation was my infatuation
For you and the things you do
The things you build
Make rivers stay still
And the things you say
Make me regret being gay
Because you're a ******
You live in your exclusive dam
Your teeth are like cleavers
Gnawing on sacrificial lamb
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
vampiric ***** house
a fearful symmetry
of cleavers for something to love
***** addicted
pearly satin's copulate
a continent of curves
ovoid rectums and raw mouths
in a ritual of sadistic etiquette
drenching phallus tongued spit
like gales of flames
at a masochists invitation
for foot blooded kisses
and heated lopped breast
eager haunches thunder
in a malignant lust
********* utopias **** cyclops
spreading winkling's dribbling
night operas
in a red cathedral of flicker hives
squealing euphoria's hemic arcade
with greased ******* that break backs
fluting throats ***** chromatic fizz
and shrilling wombs flutter like bat wings pandemonium
in the museum of the moon
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 1:39 PM UTC
she was young
and had struggled all her life
like a cursed devil doll
with the darkest impulses
pain was ***
*** was pleasure
and death she thought
oh wow thats an ******
while her little girl friends
all
may berry kittens and sunshine
screamed in terror
at the horror films
like minced mice in cleavers
she thrilled to the part
where little innocent
katty bratty blondy
got it hard and ******
with an ice pick in the belly
and then stumbled
around
waring her surprise face
blink-less
trailing blood
finally getting to the ice box
pulling out her last
ice cream on a stick
and while eating it
fell head first into the cooler
dead
she thrilled witnessing
the girl poked through
like butter
by a guy with eyes
like spider bites
in a jet black
motor cycle jacket
and electric bolt tattoos on his face
all blond
duck assed
jelled like filigree in
wild root cream hair tonic
she imagined his ****
pink longish arterial
a real throat gager
she, helpless, sacrificial
and oh so willing
being murdered by a boy
who loved her that way
his **** a
a piercing blade
the very death of her
her little hot pink ***** *******
a gooey cauldron
of drooling tears splatter
she thought
how can any body want this
Oh but i do
*** yes please
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
There were no blacks
In our part of town
No Asians, no Latinos
None of them around.
There were Italians,
They were treated well.
But anyone of color
Might run into hell.
Pastel America
Everything sort of beige.
It’s good to be pink in America.
Caucasian is all the rage.
Whenever movies showed
A crowd of good folk
They were all Caucasian
And this is not a joke.
I was raised on TV shows
Like Lassie and ******
And there were no blacks
Living near the Cleavers.
There was no understanding
Of life for any non-whites.
When I grew up I saw
That little I learned was right.
Pastel America
Everything sort of beige.
It’s good to be pink in America.
Caucasian is all the rage.
Whenever movies showed
A crowd of good folk
They were all Caucasian
And this is not a joke.
There were radio stations then
Where black music could not play.
They had to get around that
Some other sneaky way.
That’s how we got Elvis,
To fill that gaping lack.
He got his first opportunity
Because he sounded black.
Pastel America
Everything sort of beige.
It’s good to be pink in America.
Caucasian is all the rage.
Maybe it will change someday
When we all celebrate
The diversity of humanity.
Wouldn’t that be great?
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 10:55 PM UTC
*oh you
body of a woman
you've cried in the dark to long
with your enormous thrilling charm
you
under my skin
with your blood thirsty neurosis
like a queer moon
begging to be hollowed out
slow and cruel, you begged
calling me sir, like that
your mouth gleaming wet
your eyes piercing like flashing cleavers
you groan wild
like a hyena on fire
leaving all sense behind
saying yes to my darkest of whims
and weeping echoes
darker
darker and darker yet
twist me in circles
and circles in circles
my soul a rioting expectation
she eats the backward apple
God knew you would
the sadist
good destroys
evil heals
you eat apples of sin galore
your **** puffs
a fluttering gate drooling
madness, all Adamite
an iron jawed angel
tides of panic in the dark
kisses that ground you down
paralyzed by the black pit
true will of desire
atavistic compulsions torrential
pain that makes beauty stunning
pain that hums
like needles and tongues
sliding curves
milk and blood
doomed by carnal opportunity
under leaves of darkening green
depth charge
shifting flesh
towards a swift arrow
i am a sudden storm
like Caligula's kisses
and you are absolute sacrifice
draped drooling
in heavens arms
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
*reflecting on
what drives me
the sensuality
of her willing sacrifice
every inch
a supplicant
feminine vulnerability
a badge of courage
how gorgeous
she is
my little dancer
*** perfect
foot perfect
body flexed
**** drooling tears
vessel of the Goddess
caresses that
turn a pitcher
into
Aladdin's lamp
dream maker
a philosophers stone
Aphrodite's afterbirth
hysterical elasticities
she my savior
let me eat her like Christ
sublime posed flexed
**** open
ready please she whispers
to be impaled
bat thighs like spread wings
inside dark brooding interiors
ready to be engorged
blood like ink
octupussies arms
that **** and pull
that write i love you
in writhing gasmus
Our suns last gasp
tumultuous
igniting soul quakes
eats its own
with
kisses of fire
tremulous
taking all life with it
oh jewel of night
scrambling a thousand moons
swallowed
by hells
shimmering constellations
like starved arterial glistening *****
no mercy
in the glitter of cleavers
yet all
ecstasy
ecstasy
ecstasy*
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
It is usually best to avoid
crushing hopelessness, to swerve
and defer disaster, but even so
the world is well and truly ****** up.
Seek solutions to this conundrum.
Try to avoid curiosity, a pernicious
strain of insanity that conjures up
irrational fears of orangutangs
with meat cleavers, lethally ascetic
Tibetan monks, bathroom carpets
of abandoned razors or Big Macs
rife with E. Coli.
Avoid metaphysical musings that lead
to questions of coleslaw, vegan
water parks, the Team Quadraplegic
Gymnastics squad and the horrors
of the Hilary Clinton Naked Network.
Seek refuge in the present tense to
escape the interrogation of mirrors,
the crafted answer, dacryphilia,
remedial rage, landslides of therapy
and memorizing each month's horoscope.
Consider that mercy is on back order from God.
Remember the best lines of an unread book.
Nap on a battlefield; haggle over imaginary debts.
Set fire to the umbrellas of passing strangers.
Stop to watch the loudness and burn the recovered dead.
Call up new magic for a dying world.
Find beauty in the irradiated glow of burning cities.
Try not to bounce existential checks or notice
the crumbling of distant walls, ruined outhouses,
and the immense bleakness of forever and ever.
Take up training small rodents and lighting holy fires.
Ignore the broken stars, long dead and beyond grief.
Discover the pleasure in erasure, enjoy the biology
of strangeness. Walk many miles without a map
beneath innumerable ladders carefully detouring
around immense flocks of rabid cassowaries.
Throttle the recalcitrant blue sky's silent throat.
Listen to the melody of car wrecks and smashed guitars.
Abandon assumed corpses to dreams of endless cold.
Appreciate futures you cannot believe in but never visit them.
Learn to diagram sentences in Esperanto then speak with toads.
Ignore the slot machine odds against your deepest desires.
Hide beneath the ravenous trees from time's famished maw.
Seek sanctuary in toothy optimism and complete amnesia.
Follow these impossible instructions to the letter
and you will become non-valent, invisible, immune
and no longer notice the world is ****** up
beyond redemption. Go on, give it a try.
~mce
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Truth is
I can blame them for breaking my heart
I can scream loudly and tell of how much I gave
My loyalty, my heart, my love....
Everything my father instilled in me
Though nonsensical, truth is, sometimes the very best is not desired by them
Truth is, signals of disaster went ignored
For the thought of life like the Cleavers
Fairy tale of 50's era love
Blinded by the immediate
Disposed warnings of the past
Miscarrying the trust of my future
All to live in the now
Now, this moment of smiles
This instant where laughter prevails
Exchanges of lured glances
Mine escaping as i'm exposed
Emotions spill over
Secrets, I cannot keep
Excitement at the possibility of him
Weakens the walls
Eventually they tumble
To reveal what was once hidden
While his...yeah his... counterfeit at best
Simulated exercises
Maybe all to arrive at what lays below my waist
But I sensed....
Thought I saw a glimpse....
Betrayal that's plagued me all my life
Always present though from it I desperately flee
Easier to disregard than to affirm
Warning bells blaring
Managed to convince myself they were bells of the alter
But how can I blame them
When I surrender myself for slaughter
Melting into the arms of a dangerous stranger
Not heeding the voice of my father hopelessly screaming "WAIT"
I lunge into the sea of possibilities
Only to end up carried by currents to the sea of broken pieces
Shards of me destroyed
Truth is my pain is self inflicted
Never has my father not warned before the storm
Force myself to look in the mirror
Truth is..I always knew the truth
It was much more comfortable to live the lie
Truth is
I can blame them for breaking my heart
I can scream loudly and tell of how much I gave
My loyalty, my heart, my love....
Everything my father instilled in me
Truth is
I bare responsibility for the tears I cry
I stand ashamed and disheartened at my truth revealed
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC
Tattooed and holding cleavers,
we chop off our limbs
to give as random gifts
and lop off each other’s
to sew onto ourselves
between rotting brown brick towers
on infinitely numbered streets
in dim drywall suites
all along the gray, hazy horizon
hanging rusting lamps
flicker incandescent light and
swing above our pill heads
whose floating eyes
dilate
to watch drops of blood
mix
as the needle and thread
yank us closer to becoming
clones.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
i never knew when forgiveness of ******
deviations equated to
the obscurity of citizen allowances,
whereby i was excused from doing ****
like i was excused from having a conscience
stealing your herd of sheep...
but i guess i must have a medieval mentality,
******** childish, having to interpret
the profanity of the tetragrammaton
with the canonical gospels' acts of dispersion,
you said ****** were akin to
meat cleavers... fair enough...
god forgives me butchering you like you
were forgiven having a frolic in the hay...
and we're all one big happy family...
'cos i swear that's when ambiguity on the dogma
entered and the nadir was expressed:
sin - ****** ambiguity - equated itself
to crime - citizen ambiguity -
you want to put that forth to Buddhist
authority chaining ******** bandwagons of
thieves en route to the Tibetan Vatican?
only so much is allowed,
given you're championing one Jew of your fancy
while giving others the gas-chambers...
ain't it just Prince's 1999... we're gonna party
like it's 19-99.... i think you mistook sin with crimes...
that's my "doctorate" opinion...
you said **** with thieving being synonymous,
Christ was saving Greek intellectual culture
with the pederast **** to boot...
St. Paul was encouraging circumcision,
twat-like people with a statue of Buddha asking
whether head meant the shaved one ******
or whether it meant the prickly one gagged on
was on the cards - goose-pimple **** frostbite...
the moment when the forgiveness of sin
turned into the forgiveness of crime...
hence such ****** freedoms right now,
and a... ah... whatever... of challenged citizenship,
why would i? why would anyone even bother?
**** it, let's go crazy, Las Vegas is waiting for us,
the cowboys will never churn out a Thatcher
to "rule the world".
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
The automaton
Encrypting a nation
Heaven
Hell
Gods
And devils
A bio-mechanical equation
Living in circuits
Under pavement
Enslavement
In eternity
We
Are the angels
The demons
The adamant
The legion
Cursing from bended knee
In the triviality
Of truth
Are we
Not to be
Anything
But seen
Between the seams
Of perceived reality
Feeding
Off children's dreams
Breeding the themes
Into memes
And scattering
the practicality
Amongst
The capacitors
Magnifying
our hurt
Synthesizing
The whispers
Into blurts
For the world to hear
Not my words
My word
Wordless in itself
Silent as the film
Serenading
The filth
With the music of my youth
Leaking doubt
from the roof
Rerouting the abuse
Rescinding the ruse
And rebooting
With the other
7 billion fools
Aloof
As toothless mutes
Sparking mutiny
Amongst troops
Pursued by armadas
Of savage sonatas
Of cleaners
Meaning to
demean us
In the cleavers
That be-heave us
Or our humanity
Self created
In the slated
Boxes to think in
To tinker
Is sin
Repeat
and again
Condemn
The denser
To death
In breathless
Conviction
To the addiction
Onset
In step
To rest
My head
On the *******
Of your disbelief
I'm still asleep
Counting the sheep
Counting the creeps
My sub routines
Obsolete
In a sea of snakes
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
we were just two more methland residents, dreams floating in our heads.
we were hoping to prove the american dream was not quite really dead.
but times sure change and so do dreams.
i guess.
We're not the next Spielbergs
We're not the next Mansons
we're too Fu^&ed; up for that.
but maybe some of our dreams won't die.
you and I can keep some alive.
We're not the next Clintons
We're not the next Tolstoys
we're not skilled enough for that.
I'll carry the 2.5 kids if you will buy the house.
They will paint the picket fence white and we'll hide
quiet as mice but acting like rabbits.
I'm not Ward and you're not June
but this will work out anyway.
we're not the next Cleavers
we're not the next Bradys
We're at least better than that.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
My songs can make you cry
Take you by surprise at the same time
Can make you dry your eyes with the same rhyme
Now what your seeing is a genius at work
Which to me isn't work
So its easy to misinterpret it at first
Cause when I speak its tongue and cheek
I'd yank my ******* teeth
Before I'd ever bite my tongue
I'd slice my gums!
Get struck by ******* lightning twice at once!
And die and come back as Vanilla Ice's son
And walk around the rest of my life
Spit on, and kicked and hit with ****
Every time I sung
Like R. Kelly as soon as Bump & Grind comes on
More pain inside of my brain
Than the eyes of a little girl
Inside of a plane
Aimed at the world trade
Standing on Ronnie's grave
Screaming at the sky
Till clouds gather,
It's Clyde Mathers and Bonnie Jade
And that's pretty much the jist of it
Parents are ****** but the kids love it
Nine millimetre heaters stashed with two-seaters with meat cleavers
I don't blame you I wouldn't let Hailie listen to me neither
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
curling confetti
litters like cleavers
‘neath pot-bound lungs
outgrowing his ribcage
she shoots
unrestrained
rambling t’ward
a celandine sun
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
We work,
"Twerk"
Not so much
we don't bull **** and such
We're mothers,
Lovers
June Cleavers
And when we have to be, leavers
We cook, we clean,
When need be, we're mean,
"Crazy ***** sometimes
but you can't buy us with dimes
We'll stand for you, and
F
A
L
L
We always give our ALL
When we love, We give our everything
and a good woman is immune to "Bling"
We take things slow,
but only to show
We got this
So for you men, don't be stupid and miss
We can't all walk in heels
And we can't all cook gourmet meals
We aren't all pretty and petite,
But when we love, we'll give what you need
A Real Woman, will never stray
and in your hands, her heart will stay
We'll always be faithful and kind,
So when we speak, please don't be blind
A REAL WOMAN always gives a second chance
Because that's The tune, in a REAL WOMANS dance~A
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 12:17 PM UTC
wana make a devils brew
maybe you already have
its easy
just want something with all your heart
and never get it despite every effort
have you suffered an accumulation of insults and deprivations
is it not like eating barbed wire and rocks
a chewed claw
that lacerates the pallet
and tears the throat
as it goes down
loves corpse
the burial of the unrequited
a devil is dragged to life out of that grave
its every impulse retribution
if you don't kiss me
ill bite you
if you don't love me
ill hate you
if you don't caress me
ill beat you
if you don't **** me
ill **** you
if you think me ugly
ill disfigure you
if you intimidate me
ill darken your soul with fear
if you ignore me
ill stalk you
if you take from me that which i have not given
i will grow teeth
like cleavers a glitter
and eat all your dreams
if you enslave me
i will strip you of freedoms privilege
if you look at me sideways
i will curse your soul
with a blink-less evil eye
he is here on earth by gods decree
hurled down
to this head stone of a planet
this mud ball coffin
to kick the guile and ignorance out of us
force our evolution
all this submerged
underneath our civility
and good manners
if you want to see it
look at your own reflection
and make a face of horrors
roll your eyes wide widdershins
disapproving
are you not ghastly
the sin is not the skin
it is the limits of mind
we live in a world of devils fighting devils
each shrunken creature
thinking themselves godly
ridding war chariots
outfitted
with square wheels
and appalling blood stained hooks
is that not the history of the world
is Satan not a deity
an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth
GODS GIFT!
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
through knurly boughs surly éclat breaks,
burn of gold that rips the vineyard’s breast;
it cleavers slumber, all stray living shakes,
and bids the mourner’s heart forsake its rest.
o Godly Sun, thou art no tender flame,
but grim as verdict in the twilight’s hour;
thy light, as gars, enthrall the flesh with shame,
and sear the fragile bloom of mortal flower.
yet soft the Sea, with soughing lips of brine,
still thumps her griefs against the granite shore;
though wave on wave seems lush, of tone divine,
she gnaws the stone till stone it is no more.
thus love forays in twofold dread disguise:
now sudden fire, now patient tidal spell;
it strikes with glory, burns the blinded eyes,
or wears the years to dust with late farewell.
o Love, thou art a tyrant robed in grace,
of sweet miasma, vile in delight;
thou make a banquet of the heart’s own place,
and leave the corpse to banquet with the night.
no mortal choice avails ’gainst Love’s decree;
its law is writ in fire and surging sea.
naturally, fatally, all lovers know:
the last, most faithful act is;
let them go.
Aug 23, 2025
Aug 23, 2025 at 6:32 AM UTC
You can never go back to the start, never start to begin to unwind the string that pulls little levers that turn lights on the parts in the dark or never piece together the beats in the heart of a heart.
You can never go back and the start of it is when you draw your first breath and the rest follows on where each day is the start of the day of your death.
Even Well's, who never knew better, knew better not to try to go back to the day when you first start to die.
A little off track but you can never go back and off track here or there is okay, we all wear a hat for a day and all that but each hat brings us nearer to the end where it's clearer and if all else fails you can get on the next boat that sails off the end of the Earth where your Mothers gave birth to you.
See what you're doing?
you're going to back to the ruin and the ruin becomes what you've always been doing.
A touch of the see-saw, a bit up and down, a Saturday night getting ****** in the town and puking up in the park, it's all turning the lights on the parts in the dark, the levers are cleavers that slash at your heart, you can never go back to the start
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
It's a terrible thing,
I know a beautiful young woman who harms herself with a razor.
Butter and toast.
It's a terrible thing.
We kiss a lot as she bleeds.
And yes, oh yes,
It's a terrible thing.
Blood flows down her breast onto the soft curves of her ivory torso
To mix with my sweat and raw kisses.
It's a terrible thing.
The white marble goddess arches towards my mouth
Stone wheels sharpen the blade.
Her lips - red stains.
It's a terrible thing.
Blood in spiderwebbed rivulets fall.
She burns a smile like talons into my skull.
I'm bought and sold in the house of a tortured Venus.
Alley of torment and ecstasy.
Dracula licks her jewel box glitter and drinks her till whiskey blind.
A ************ mad hatter.
It's a terrible thing.
Please stop, I say heavy with longing.
Which drives her on as one wound begets another.
In this laboratory of sanguine obsession.
My voice - musical bones like xylophone tones.
And oh My God.
This filler that cleaves to emptiness.
This finger of the void - black angels.
Her grin upon me like the Ta in ******
A merchant of desire whom I love darkly.
This ponderous monk black night of red children falling from mother.
To be savored.
I dive into her red.
My mouth wild cherries and rushing fire.
I am dragon's teeth and tongue lapping.
All cleavers and kisses.
She smiles spreading in a bed of red gauze.
We are good people.
And oh yes, my sweet.
It's a terrible thing.
Feb 24, 2024
Feb 24, 2024 at 4:32 AM UTC
Breathe and live.
Positive. Inviting every inch of me.
Testing waters.
Chemical inversion
My disturbance. Like a luxury.
So heaven like a tuxedo deal.
**** me see me luckily
Like coming up 7s real
While my stud husband
Cant stop ******* me.
My family jewels.
Tucked away. Dont **** with me.
Money comes so rare.
I swear.
I need to come up.
With a monthly.....
Self replenished
Money tree.....
And dont thinkbasis.
Is creative *** I made
The corners. Of the rug.
A ******* funny place
For pugs to ***
Them ugly looking *****
Something similar
To mister Donald Trump.
His ******* junk
Is made dysfunction.
The assumption. Being
Donald's *****
Is the reason.
Santas fat *** replaced jesus as the meaning of the season.
I should pull meat cleavers.
Pull the lever.
Move the temperature.
To jam rock.
Mary Jane with solidarity. And reach a fever.
And create a religion solely baced on marley vibes. And make Donald first believer.
Launch a soaked ****** At his roster of bodyguards.
And tell himeat it. You big dumb ******** creature.
Back to shadow moves.
Chaotic evil is my breed
Of feature. So ****** feed my need
Or show me fear.
But never show me fakeness.
I'm made for basic. Greatness.
Blame myteacher.
And my leaders
Cant take it here's a spoon.
Eat my *** and tell me how it tasted
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC