It's weird to have friends who are *****
You know they're not good people
But they're your friends
Your best friends
And they're not really cunty towards you
They're actually really nice
And they make you laugh
But there's this thing in the back of your mind
That wonders
Constantly, almost
If they're talking about you
If they're being cunty towards you
Behind your back
Because even though they are your friends
They're nothing more than *****
Who only really know how to be *****
Not friends

The double slit experiment
In quantum mechanics
Shows us one thing:
That you can’t trust a *******.

You can’t even trust a particle
Without watching it like a hawk,
And even then it will disobey you.

Be a little rebel,
Get yourself a little *****,
Have your own opinions,
Let relationships decay into ruin.

Quantum mechanics tells me
That we’re all a little cunty,
Even the atoms that comprise us,
So what choice do we have
In the end?

Walking down the short hallway to the restroom, Laura was definitely feeling the buzz. She even had that chemical burning lovely shades in her digestive tract, or at least, that's how it always felt when she got high. That **** burned right through her inhibitions and her exhaustion; it made her watchful and ******, any touch felt like lightning. A GOOD TIME kind of time comes to mind, where merely a pair of lips and teeth scraping against her skin could make her come......a drug that was so disgustingly ****** to her it would probably have ruined her for a sober life. Forever ******* and trying to find the heights she had once achieved even with the most incompetent lovers. It was truly a drug for a woman. Always the ones expected to make someone feel better than they are, constantly begged to lend validation to the worn and make them feel new again with your love and admiration. It absolutely disgusted her sometimes the things she had done, but you could never deny her the title of success in that arena. She had traversed a pile of trash and made them feel golden and important, even allowing a man to **** her soul until it couldn't love anymore. Lack of responding was forever to be her kryptonite....but here she lies, Laura, the fuckingest of the *******, and queen of the ******* she ****** back to life in her drugged state- the only time she had ever been able to stomach being a "modern" woman. Covertly sneaking the addicts and the losers love underneath the table....trying to make them rise up and redefine it all. But her army would never come, and the war would never begin- thinking they would be the only ones who would fight for her, the ones she had bore into full men, but oh was she wrong. And oh was she stuck for good.

Ever since she has felt a dissonance from a pleasure. But back to her present past we were talking about...she is walking down a hallway feeling that nice fuzzy synth feeling. The sexiness and the sway in her own hips is even electrifying her...turning her on....getting lost in the restroom between her own legs and also a straw up her own nose....CHOP CHOP CHOP...then the sweet SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF.....circling her reflection in the mirror after each hit trying to see how it changed her on the outside....she felt so alive for the first time after a life that seemed to have been filled with oppression prior to this dark crystals reawakening of her senses. But she began to see shadows in the night; shadows of the past, shadows leading to the monster's locked away in the recesses of her mind that were only allowed out sometimes. She felt lost in the dreaming of this toxicity of her inner haven...even her psyche had been taken over. All she longed to do was ****, smoke, please, and be incredibly beautiful and feel wanting/wanted....desire in the purest form no matter what it was about or what it was for....forever spinning around looking for what was not lost, but definitely for something in herself and others that was never quite enough. That's probably why she lost that one man, or the next....she could never fully finish because it was an ongoing walking, uncontrollable stimulation....always on the brink of ****** and always searching for it. Even after feeling it it didn't seem to quite satisfy..."I can't get No Satisfaction" comes to her ear in these moments...blinding her ****, spilling into her overly absorbed and enlightened prefrontal cortex. She thought she was such a genius...planning to make money and run away into this lifestyle and never re-emerge again. Oh but she was cunty and ****** up and made too many fall in love with her....and after the only one she truly loved betrayed her....told her and showed her that he could never be the lover he promised he would be in prison, well....she got spun for life and hasn't been fully untangled since....It's a drought season in the year of that love....she could bring about all the desire in that man, even make him love her....for who she really was not just the doped up junkhead she had become....but it would never be enough because his demons couldn't be satisfied with anything but a jail life full of structure. Her ***** lips couldn't seal him in tight enough, close enough to home to stick.....and so as he disappeared from her heart willingly....so did her sanity. Going truly mad over this sick and constantly incarcerated beautifully disgusting soul broke her. Wanting to love him better, to love him the way she wanted to be loved so bad.......and not getting it not even once. . . Travesty in her heart...sobriety spinning her out into dope again, and the ten mile walk of shame after she couldn't find him again when he ran from her insanity that had been induced....well....she almost died just trying to stay in love with the one person in all her dope days that made her feel loved and celebrated....not just ******, symmetrical, and ideal.....she never wanted to be ideal, she just wanted to be enough.
Riding along with her own self hate on the coaster of her life into all the wibbly wobbly bits of life that could never be explained away....only tears could seal them far enough for heart to be so far from touching them she didn't even want to go through the trouble anymore

Walking down the short hallway to the restroom, Laura was definitely feeling the buzz. She even had that chemical burning lovely shades in her digestive tract, or at least, that's how it always felt when she got high. That **** burned right through her inhibitions and her exhaustion; it made her watchful and ******, any touch felt like lightning. A GOOD TIME kind of time comes to mind, where merely a pair of lips and teeth scraping against her skin could make her come......a drug that was so disgustingly ****** to her it would probably have ruined her for a sober life. Forever ******* and trying to find the heights she had once achieved even with the most incompetent lovers. It was truly a drug for a woman. Always the ones expected to make someone feel better than they are, constantly begged to lend validation to the worn and make them feel new again with your love and admiration. It absolutely disgusted her sometimes the things she had done, but you could never deny her the title of success in that arena. She had traversed a pile of trash and made them feel golden and important, even allowing a man to **** her soul until it couldn't love anymore. Lack of responding was forever to be her kryptonite....but here she lies, Laura, the fuckingest of the *******, and queen of the ******* she ****** back to life in her drugged state- the only time she had ever been able to stomach being a "modern" woman. Covertly sneaking the addicts and the losers love underneath the table....trying to make them rise up and redefine it all. But her army would never come, and the war would never begin- thinking they would be the only ones who would fight for her, the ones she had bore into full men, but oh was she wrong. And oh was she stuck for good.

Ever since she has felt a dissonance from a pleasure. But back to her present past we were talking about...she is walking down a hallway feeling that nice fuzzy synth feeling. The sexiness and the sway in her own hips is even electrifying her...turning her on....getting lost in the restroom between her own legs and also a straw up her own nose....CHOP CHOP CHOP...then the sweet SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF.....circling her reflection in the mirror after each hit trying to see how it changed her on the outside....she felt so alive for the first time after a life that seemed to have been filled with oppression prior to this dark crystals reawakening of her senses. But she began to see shadows in the night; shadows of the past, shadows leading to the monster's locked away in the recesses of her mind that were only allowed out sometimes. She felt lost in the dreaming of this toxicity of her inner haven...even her psyche had been taken over. All she longed to do was ****, smoke, please, and be incredibly beautiful and feel wanting/wanted....desire in the purest form no matter what it was about or what it was for....forever spinning around looking for what was not lost, but definitely for something in herself and others that was never quite enough. That's probably why she lost that one man, or the next....she could never fully finish because it was an ongoing walking, uncontrollable stimulation....always on the brink of ****** and always searching for it. Even after feeling it it didn't seem to quite satisfy..."I can't get No Satisfaction" comes to her ear in these moments...blinding her ****, spilling into her overly absorbed and enlightened prefrontal cortex. She thought she was such a genius...planning to make money and run away into this lifestyle and never re-emerge again. Oh but she was cunty and ****** up and made too many fall in love with her....and after the only one she truly loved betrayed her....told her and showed her that he could never be the lover he promised he would be in prison, well....she got spun for life and hasn't been fully untangled since....It's a drought season in the year of that love....she could bring about all the desire in that man, even make him love her....for who she really was not just the doped up junkhead she had become....but it would never be enough because his demons couldn't be satisfied with anything but a jail life full of structure. Her ***** lips couldn't seal him in tight enough, close enough to home to stick.....and so as he disappeared from her heart willingly....so did her sanity. Going truly mad over this sick and constantly incarcerated beautifully disgusting soul broke her. Wanting to love him better, to love him the way she wanted to be loved so bad.......and not getting it not even once. . . Travesty in her heart...sobriety spinning her out into dope again, and the ten mile walk of shame after she couldn't find him again when he ran from her insanity that had been induced....well....she almost died just trying to stay in love with the one person in all her dope days that made her feel loved and celebrated....not just ******, symmetrical, and ideal.....she never wanted to be ideal, she just wanted to be enough.

*******, cunty ******= I love you.




Im such a sweet person ♥

This is a tale featuring the great superhero, SNOGGO

  That ******* dangerous horrific and scary beast would not terrify me.  Who was I?  Some little stupid ******* weedy spastic?  No, I was the great fearless SNOGGO!  Yes! Yes! Yes! I was the magnificent SNOGGO who had faced (without flinching much) so many humunguously terrifying events! So I picked up the mighty hammer and struck out fearlessly: *'Wham! Thump! Crash! Boom!' I gave the terrfying monster a ******* great bashing.

  I was enraged yet not terrified more than was absolutely necessary. Did you erroneously imagine I was just some little weedy wimp afraid of attacking a terrible adversary without a platoon of Hummers (whatever they may ******* be) full of mercenaries recruited from the slum trailer parks of Hades?  'Take that you stupid evil cunty ideologue!' I yelled, 'Take that! And that! ******* take that!'

  My God, I bashed that vile and 100% hideous creature ******* senseless. I was so ******* brave, just as brave as the worthless ***** who will soon be called heroic US veterans killing innocent Arabs left, right and centre throughout the entire ******* Middle East to please their Zionist taskmasters, God ****** them. I was incandescent.  I was SUPER-******* SNOGGO! I would triumph over adversity in the name of ******* freedom's ******* bell! Ding-****!

  As so it came to pass that, finally after a tremendous struggle in which I nearly lost a fingernail, the immature pink dwarf hamster lay lifeless before me, squashed into a puddle reminiscent of a flattened dead hairy ripe tomato. 'Bring it on, you ****** *****,' I bravely thought as I ****** my comrade's flaccid **** eagerly as we cowered manfully in a burnt-out mosque, preparing ourselves bravely for a spot of rendition among the local orphans.

When all my blood is estranged
Is it then that I become deranged?
Already self-loathing and anti-family
So maybe I can’t stand my own genetics                        
Perhaps I see myself as unequivocally cunty
And maybe I cannot stand the things that made me
Is this what makes one deranged?
Self-destructive and anti-happy
When all the blood is estranged
And the world is just animals
To be coldly devoured. . .
This seems to me quite deranged

Sitting in a coffee shop in yupstown hipsville Brooklyn
scrawling in a notebook with a headband on
I become a caricature of myself
why these things even matter to me I cannot explain
but I feel like scumbag anyway

Constantly criticizing
revising
rewriting my words and theirs
my thoughts
"oh thats pretentious"
"what is that? your talking out your ***"
"why do I/you even bother?"
Why can't I just go?
Be
write write scribble doodle
think
at least I'm not the ******* sitting across from me
(there it goes again)

But i am part of a growing number
of diligent dilettantes
with notebooks and  novels
leather bound and worn
"vintage"
and "obscure" instruments
and tastes
because I am all leisure
I have that kind of time
but aren't I just another ****?
Cunting out my cunty cuntness
like it's something new
like i'm not just playing games
playing roles
half committed and pandering
to an audience of privilege
looking for clarity, or authenticity?
or am I just another salesman?

Ugh I cannot escape
my sense of inadequacy
I m a sham, a ******* artist
When is it going to ******* end....
is there any escape
that comes without labels
self imposed or otherwise?
(stop wining you ****!)

Splattered in concrete like decent ommissions
Like ethereal gods
Like rotted pine and faulty seeds
Like withered lungs & crusty pig ****
Like  laughing dogs and cunty cats
Like frolicking lilyhammers
Like ****** bullmen
Like sexless libras
Like tight stewardess *** in the 90s
Like a poptart tomorrow
Like the last liberal
Conservative
Connected to the wifi
Take a stige
And laugh
Why not lol
Ok
   Ok ok
This is like myself

there's a  fire in this madhouse of Venus
where unattainable romance gives birth
to cunty darkness and pleading clawish fingers
to obsessions of strange mental constructs
something about blood and tears
birthing black ******* and vampires
with vermillion mouths shaped in circles
that gorge themselves on violent thrusting *****
and ***** resembling mushed faced pugs
just asking for it

a woman's eyes burn like cigarettes
and tongues snake into esophageal
swoon revivals of glorious deliverance
flashing souls flit like street lights
and flames of wraith hair
she begs to be strangled with a black chord
and kissed till her brain blurs fizz

she dances
wigwam wiggle and clutches
like a sliding oyster
licking my *******
**** ***** and ruby ***** 
gagging repeatedly onto the hilting root  
falling into submission
for her dark ******* god Faustian thing
a little doll with mythic eyes 
a ******* wraparound mouthy wigged ***** 
with a baloney-pony disco stick orifice

will you **** me with your **** sir
a dark hunger gnaws deep within
so bleed me merciless
like a gushing artery
make me red dead in love in bed
butter **** and properly spread
pound me like a hell ***** ****** 
in a burning five alarm 
emergency suicide ****
-
i corkscrew her 
into a writhing
murderous wreckage 
as she dissolves under me 
like a sugar cube in hot tea and blood
christened by a magic wand
that forces her round belly 
up and down like a toilet plunger

her ***** drools like runny yolks
a deep homework 
the shamanic decent 
an illusive weighing of the heart 
the sweet meat priestess 
who resuscitates abandoned legends
making my ***** click like castanets 
a Mr. Winkey party
spewing Icelandic yogurt
her teeth rattle
as her brains and one eyeball 
hang off my **** 
like pig trough slobber

her face smiles 
and vomits peaches

there's moon glitter
in your beautiful hair
my darling

God save the kink

while being a man eater
she preferred
to be eaten
like a ***** bride for a vampyre

cleanse us from all unrighteousness

she liked her ****
bruised as beaten apples
with scorched *******
perforated with the needles
still glimmering in her areolas
oozing small rivulets of blood
as if alters to a weird mythic Jesus

do unto others

she spread her haunches wide
and knelt in supplication
her **** and glistening **** presented
for the scythe and whipping slick ******

let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace

she imagined
her body like a dirigible
exploding in mid air
her hands caressed her lush *****
with rabid fingers
like a woodpecker on amphetamines
girding an unlocked cage
of wet smeared lips

for this is my blood of the covenant

her **** drooled
as if a thousand baby tongues
dripped for a teasing tickling blade
knotty hung ***** and sagging *****
on the way to a glorious ascension

hard is the path to God

her life more dissolute
than *** **** videos
a rich lady languishing
with a growling animal inside her
and gold enough for life
but not too rich to bleed
extravagant tears of flaming petals
while licking devils *****  
and being eaten and ******
from ******* to gut
in a bottomless rusty bathtub
by a pantheon of fiends

come now, let us reason together, shes a horney *****

in her own rem noir dark city
of obsidian dreams
she woke up happy as a jitterbug
and full of grace
her cunty fingers tasted extra ******
and slippery as melted butter

beware

watch out for the boiling red eye
and the hillbilly keep out sign

Quick I will post for the sake of posting
Perhaps test the bloodwaters
Am I a true artist yet?

I have yet to offend so perhaps I am an early Israelite
Condemned to mental slavery for 40 years and 40 nights

I can't be an artist until I say ****
But we all know ****** did nothing wrong
In fact,
Most blessings come disguised as curse
God can only speak through the devils malfeasance
But nobody on this ******* planet wants that clue
I like the numbing effect of validation
****** pill of mind wash that **** out with soap please
Pathetic bronze soul worthy of enslavement
It's easier than doing it yourself

**** it man specific lives matter
**** it man the nation matters
**** yall lying ****** **** *******
Those are old ideologies


... (grandmas)

Let's just go to space and nuke the planet from orbit and restart
Rebuild the republic man!
Watch it crumble away to Rome

Before that I want to be remembered as a cunty man with no taste or class
And nothing to say

Awake from a nap feeling hot and sweaty in your arms.
You say I’ve been out for an hour and I get slightly sad.
That’s one less hour with you.
We have so much to do.
Why don’t we leave the four walls and lay under a fern.
In the long shade over our faces.
We can count birds or try to capture butterflies by hands.
Not too much force cause we don’t wanna crush them.
Nameless lover, can I finally call you by your name?
Give me your top albums.
I’ll listen to every one of them.
I’ll listen to them on my times away when I miss you.
Hope you’re listening to them then too.
We can listen to them together.
Add places to the list of places where I kissed you.
The bridge that’s slippery in winter.
A crowded bus stop.
That alleyway with tree branch arches.
Under the silk, thin as paper sheets.
Set boundaries so we don’t build on quicksand.
If there’s something I should know, shoot.
When you’re not in the mood to **** I’ll understand.
I’ll warm up a pillow, tuck you into bed.
I’ll make you laugh despite what’s happening.
Never bring you hurt deliberately.
Share every feeling that crosses my heart.
Tell you the proportions and the magnitude of the love I’ve developed for you.
I want to show it to you.
Beautiful like a flowering tree in the beginning of spring.
Watch it sway knowing you feel the same.
I want to love you, can I call you by your name?
Can we run away for a weekend?
Before they report us missing we’ll be swimming in the water.
The heavy cloth accentuating your body.
Your skinny waist.
Your shoulders I love to place my head on.
Then I can crack two beers and have a two-people party.
Or we can grab coffee downtown.
Walk instead of drive.
Enjoy the bright building walls and the fumes pouring out or cars.
Oh, so romantic.
Counting roadkill can be romantic when you’re with the person you love.
I wanna be the first person you think of calling when you feel crushed.
First person you call to share good news with.
First person on your people ranking.
Your comfort person.
I’d put you above Bianca and my profesora.
I’ll ask you whether I should have chili or smoked tofu.
Need to know which you prefer.
And not write that in a notebook cause that’s corny but remember it.
The most minute things.
I wanna feel like home to you.
An oasis.
A well in a desert.
Summertime dessert.
Supportive boyfriend.
Freak in bed.
Your #1 poet.
Dry and wet.
Hot and cold.
Day or night.
I wanna drop that pronoun and call you by who you are.
I want to hear it from your lips that I’m gorgeous even when my hair’s not done.
That the bags under my eyes are cute.
That my outfit is cunty.
That I’m not beyond change when I feel broken beyond repair.
I’d tell you I’m so proud to be yours.
Tell the whole world if you’re okay with that.
And if you’re not ready to shine alongside me, I’ll respect that.
I’ll not take it as you being ashamed of me like someone I sort of dated.
I’ll make compromises.
I’ll stay true to my promises and not churn them out like poems to bend into airplanes and throw to the wind.
But if you don’t care about what they will say I’ll show you off.
Like a diamond.
Like my proudest possession which you are.
We could go to pride together.
Pose for pictures and cause homophobes to fume.
Share perfume.
Share secrets.
Share pictures we took.
Nameless lover, **** the names of people who misunderstood you.
Not for calling you a *****.
But for raining on your parade and mine too.
God, I wish we could fold paper boats and push them forward on the flooding streets.
French kiss in the pouring rain.
Limited visibility but your face’s in front of me.
Polaroids and soulmate wristbands.
Cringy **** like that makes sense now.
But no cringy wedding vows cause we most likely won’t have that.
And don’t want that.
Do we?
We can start a garden.
Plant seeds and watch them grow.
Just to spend time out in the sun.
Go for runs toward the seaside town and walk back worn out.
Make mistakes together.
Sleep together.
Eat together.
Drink together.
Laugh together.
Cry together.
Travel together.
Be together.
Nameless lover, I want to reveal your name.
I want this.
I’ll give you everything I have.
It took reconnecting with nature and deep thinking sessions to come up with a conclusion.
But I’m sure of it.
I don’t know what I saw in those boys before.
To me you’re the prettiest boy in the world.
I love to say your name.
It’s like an angel’s kiss.
Candy melting in my mouth.
Addictive substance.
But a healthy kind of addiction.
You make me so mad sometimes but I recognize my jealousy.
I wish you would only talk to me.
Question why you don’t smile at me but do I smile at you?
Do I bombard you with compliments?
I’m fighting my shyness.
I am into you.
I apologize if I ever made you feel unseen or if I came off mean to you.
I’m very much in love with you.
I truly don’t know if you’re into me.
I can see the signs but then I question everything.
Why aren’t you making more moves?
You’re the more outgoing one.
And your extroverted nature terrifies me more than death.
But I’d rather die fighting for your love than give up now.
What if you’re unsure too and await me to start a conversation to make sure I’m willing to get to know you and you’re not clingy.
I adore talking to you.
I find little things about you adorable.
I sometimes can’t look at you because of how pretty you are.
I hope I get to address you in a future poem by your name.
I hope this ends well.
Cause I don’t know how this one will end.
I am out of ideas.
But never out of willpower to fight.
After all I want this.
I want you to be mine.