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liza Apr 2014
if someone tells me that jealousy does not exist
on this earth
i will tell them to look deep
inside my heart
and see the jealousy that courses through my veins

i yearn for someone to talk to
     even if it's just a random person anonymously on a random site
and i yearn for a cutesy little skype conversation
     with a complete stranger
and i yearn for people to ask me to go places
     instead of me asking them

and i yearn for them to remember me,
and i yearn for them to remember my name
and that it's leeza, not lyza
and that i have feelings, too
and i hate this back brace

and that i just want to laugh with them
and i don't want them to laugh at me
and i just worry so much

and i am jealous because they are concerned with
grades and boys, grades and girls
and i just try to fit in
because i am jealous.
welp this is personal
basically i have really bad scoliosis and my surgery date is confirmed
wow am i fine or panicked? at the moment i'm fine, but i know that every single day that goes by is just one day closer to my meltdown.
judy smith Aug 2015
Summer Finn is the charming, elusive love interest of protagonist Tom Hansen in 500 Days of Summer. From her playful personality to her cutesy hair ribbons, actress Zooey Deschanel's 500 Days of Summer style is irresistible. IMO, the overall look of her character is not a far cry from Jess Day's style (the leading lady of New Girl, also played by Deschanel). However, Jess' style is on the kooky side of whimsical while Summer's errs on the feminine side.

Summer's style could be described as girly, quirky, and ethereal. The ethereal factor probably has more to do with her attitude and personality, as she tends to keep Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character Tom at arm's length. (I know, who in their right mind would do that?)

The baby blue clothing that she wears throughout the movie also reflects this sentiment, since blue is regularly associated with sadness. It is almost as though Tom knows subconsciously that his relationship with Summer will not end well. This makes perfect sense in filmography terms because the movie is shot in a non-linear narrative. Right at the start, the narrator even informs the audience, "This is a story of boy meets girl but you should know up front, this is not a love story."

So here's how to channel Summer Finn's charmingly tempting style, because looking like a modern day femme fatale is one of my personal favorite things.

1. The Summery Tea Dress

Channel Summer's vintage style of decades past by with a lovely, feminine tea dress. Summer's has cute, capped sleeves, a magical swirly pattern, and it appears semi-sheer (adding a touch of naughtiness to her outfit). Whichever style you choose, make it a modest length with flirty details, whether that be sheer material or cheeky cut outs.

With its sheer sleeves, cutesy Peter Pan collar, and adorable buttons, this darling pale blue dress is just the ticket and is available in sizes S to 4X.

2. The Cat Eye Makeup

Cat-eye makeup gives off a vintage vibe while also adding a sassy feel to your beauty look. To tone down the sass and keep it less Catwoman and more Brigitte Bardot, keep the rest of your look super natural. Think dewy skin and rosy cheeks.

This vegan eyeliner has a super thin brush so you can create your cat-eye flick with ease. If you're feeling funky, you can even pick an alternative color such as white or purple to really make a statement.

3. The Alternative Workwear

Summer proves that workwear needn't be boring. Put a youthful spin on the classic, white shirt by wearing a sleeveless style and pairing it with high-waisted, tailored trousers.

This classic white shirt is a style steal and can be paired with a multitude of garments. It'll make choosing your work outfit much easier when you're bleary eyed and you've not yet had your morning coffee.If you wish to wear a more feminine style and channel Summer's gleefully girlish side, then why not wear a mini dress? As long as it's tailored in some way (like Summer's stiff short sleeves) and sports a formal flourish (like the lace hemline of her dress) then you should totally be able to get away with wearing it for work. If in doubt, throw on a blazer. Blazers make any outfit look formal.

This pencil skirt dress with its stripe detailing and capped sleeves is sure to have you looking like the best dressed in the office.

4. Up Your Hair Accessory Game

Ms. Finn is often seen sporting some kind of adorable hair accessory. She changes it up from powder blue ribbons to strappy, modern headbands to suit her different ensembles. A ribbon worn as a bow in your hair has connotations of Sandy from Grease and in turn adds a youthful naivety to your outfit.

If you're short for time on a morning, throw your hair into a high ponytail and clip this cute bow into your barnet for instant vintage vibes.

A strappy headband is nostalgic of retro Alice bands. However, the straps keep it modern and elegant. IMO, Summer has nailed hair accessories. She wears the pretty bow in her free time and the grown up headband at the office.

I could totally imagine Summer wearing this simple yet feminine headband. Plus, the pearl design will add an air of sophistication to your outfit, helping you to appear oh so ladylike and mature.

5. The Off-The-Shoulder Chiffon Dress

Seen in a completely different look, Ms. Finn looks stunning in an off-the-shoulder chiffon gown that juxtaposes hilariously with the "*****" game she plays with Tom. To me, the décolletage is one of the most sensual parts of a woman's body and exposing it can sometimes feel sexier than showing off your cleavage or wearing a tight dress. The addition of the chiffon plays on Summer's ethereal, magical side and she reminds me of A Midsummer Night's Dream characters. The key to this look is picking a flowing, fairy-like gown.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Nik Krutilla Sep 2012
She sits across from me sipping and slurping her fat free french vanilla.
While I'm pacing myself with cappuccino imitation.

"All I'm saying is, that if he starts calling me baby, I might wanna keep him!"

She says it with that cajoling tone.
But I can notice the glimmer in her eyes that tells me she longs for that.
That sweet pet name that would mean she's special to him, in her mind...

I never could get comfortable around those things...pet names.
Cutesy little endearments reserved for a child's affection.

What is wrong with me?

She's vibrating with unmasked giddiness, glancing at her phone.
They've been dating for only months but she is lost in him.

Him.
With his once a week date nights
and clean shaven face
and joking interaction with her friends.  

She's full of soft embrace and warm affection and vulnerable interest.
Wanting never looked so form fitting on a person.
Like a cup waiting for a refill...

"If you want, I could see if his friend is up for dinner next week? You know it's been months for you..."

I hope she doesn't choke on her millionth slurp with the glare of indignation leveled at her cherub-like face.

"Ah thanks, but no thanks." races out of my mouth before I even hesitate to pretend to consider her obvious proposal.

How is it that easy to just offer companionship like that? Do I give off a "desperate for love" vibe?
And what the hell makes her think I can't find someone on my own **** time?


"Okay, okay. It's just...I hate seeing you alone. Don't you want to not be alone anymore?"

I know she loves me but those kind of questions from her caring heart, make me contemplate knocking her in the head.

My alone-ness she says.
My singular existence.

I'd laugh at her if I didn't know it would hurt her feelings.
To disregard her feeble attempts at pairing me up with whatever half-assed man candy she could sway my way.

I'm staring at the ring left from my coffee,
wondering if I should just give in this one time for her,
for me,
for the over used batteries at home.

"I'm not lonely you know. I just, haven't felt that connection yet."

Looking pitifully back at me she wonders aloud, "You're always waiting on that connection but have you ever felt it before? I mean, how do you know it's even real, that body, mind, spirit...magnet pull you believe so fiercely?"

It's the first time I've given her a genuine smile today as I tell her yes I have felt it before.
Briefly...
Bitter sweetly...

I just never got his last name.

It might have been years ago but I can still recall with clarity that electric tornado that seemed to have surrounded us.

We had only been gifted ten hours together but it left a mark on me for over fourteen years.
His face is definitely matured I imagine and his body shaped differently.
But I'll never mistake those sea green eyes, haloed by dusty blue cloud rings.  

The only boy who has ever made me want to get lost and never be found.

"Well...good luck with that. But until mystery man crashes back into your life, for god's sake live a little huh!"

She means well I'm sure but like an eager pup I just tsk at her goofily plastered expression and finish off the grainy remains of my only afternoon delight. She's in a hurry to make her "honey bunny" a homemade dinner anyway so it's not hard to cut things short on our weekly coffee shop vent session.

She's floating out the door before I even get my coat above my elbows but I can't feel offended.
Mulling over the uncomfortable idea of boring interaction with another stranger I decide to grab one more drink for the ride home.

Alone.

Oh, wonderful...now she's planted that seed.

Shaking it off, I order my vice and move benignly to wait and resolve to not think about anything related to that anymore either.

"Seems outrageous they charge so much for imitation don't you think?"

The question's asked to me but I pretend I can't hear it. A guy hitting on me today is not what I want to deal with.

And he seems to be standing right behind me
making goosebumps scatter across my neck.

He tries again, "So I guess you like buying bottom of the barrel cappuccino?"

This time I've gotten a little itchy from his voice and want him to just stop in his tracks.
So I turn to tell him where, in fact, he can go...

But I'm the one stopped short and a bit flabbergasted.

No way do things happen to me like this.

Those coincidental, lucky, fated things...

I almost wish I was a liar right now with the things I just spilled to my loyally, encouraging friend.
Because there is no way the universe would be this cruel.

Finally I exhale and word *****,

"They're the only place that taste just like the ones at my grandmas' house every summer when I was a girl. I waited a long time to find that connection again, even if it is just coffee..."

The smirking face and broad shoulders that greet me aren't the cause of my temporary delirium.
Not even the wild hair and black rimmed glasses.

It's the sea green, haloed dusty blue eyes centering all the rest that shallow my breaths

Of all the places.....

Like a falling satin sheet his face morphs into a query riddled expression.

I hear the barista call out a name and he reluctantly steps away, never taking his eyes off mine whispering,

"I'll...be right back. Don't move...please?"

I'm nodding like an awkward parrot and he turns to grab his imitation coffee.
The same kind I'm waiting on.
And I start smiling after a second.

Not because of the similar drink order, which could be anyone...

But because of something I haven't known until this moment for over fourteen years.
All thanks to fate, or destiny...
Or perhaps the oblivious barista.

His last name...


*© NDHK
Ember Evanescent Nov 2014
Yeah I totally love being single!
You can do what you want whenever you want without obligations or having to think about anyone else you can flirt shamelessly with as many guys as you like, there is no pressure to look good for anyone I love that I have all this me time where I can spend a Saturday night reading and listening to the music I like without trying to decode mixed signals in text messages
I never have to depend on anyone but myself.
No one is stressing me out by depending on me.
I can sit by myself on the couch home alone when everyone else is out
And feel completely isolated, unloved and unlovable
I can feel so ugly and obsess over it
I can scroll through pictures of pretty celebrities and models and girls I know online bitterly wishing I looked like them and could be like them so that maybe someone would notice me and give me a chance
I can scream at the radio for playing stupid love songs
I can eat ice cream and chocolate wondering why I am such a waste of space
Thinking of all the guys who have rejected me and dropped me over the years
Have no one to love
Or who loves me
No guy I can trust with my secrets and loyalty
No one who needs me
No one to want
Or make me feel wanted
To spend nights together
Just talking
And watching movies
Being cutesy and flirty with
Lie hand in hand with
No one I can gush about to my friends
No one I can bake for
No one I can buy stuff for, just 'cause
No one I can do random couples stuff with
No one in my life
It's pretty great.
I love being single.
There is nothing wrong with being single btw I dont mean to offend anyone I'm just saying that I PERSONALLY don't deal with it well. Good for all of you other single people out there who have found a way to love single life.
Repost if you also **** at dealing with being single though
Luna Feb 2016
A few seconds of his face
A glimpse of a biological pull
A desire to push and pinch
To slam and hold dear

Frissoning blossom
Blossoming feelings
Feeling warm
Feeling cold
Chilling heart
melting once more?

-

Not really
More of a pull
attraction caused
Causing strange
thoughts scattered
Wait, what?

-

Is it you
I'm wanting
I'm wishing
Wishful thoughts
Thinking of you
Your smile
smiling cutesy
Smiling for me

(I'm) weird,
(Your s)mile's
weird as well
Smile for me
(Make me happy)
(10-21-2015 - 01:31)
Danny Valdez Jan 2012
He woke up
next to the empty spot
where Wonder Woman had been.
He puked in the toilet
slammed down a forty-ounce Miller High Life
and started putting the suit on.
boots
the gray and black tights
the gloves
the yellow utility belt
and the cape.
It was leather.
He put the cowl
under his arm and left his apartment.
It was a late start
nearly noon
by the time
the bus got him to
Mann's Chinese Theater.
He saw a lot of his
friends and colleges
as the bus went down to his stop.
It was a regular day
all the characters were
in their usual little groups.
Spider-Man & Captain America
two Mormon boys that had been
excommunicated from the church
they got caught **** *******
each other
now they were stuck in Hollywood
like everyone else.
The X-Men
or H-Men as most people called them
were a group of junkies.
One of them had a cousin at Fox
and they got four replica X-Men costumes.
So that's how they scored
their junk everyday
garnered pretty good tips from the tourists.
Cyclops, Jean-Grey, Storm, and Wolverine.
It was a good grift. **** good idea.
Then you had the impersonators
plastic surgery freaks
obsessed with Michael Jackson
creepy bald men dressed as Dr. Evil
and there was always
a lazy fat guy
that would do Elvis.
Not know any of the songs
and saying the catch phrases all wrong,
"Well, thank you Ma'am....thank you so much."
Those guys never lasted too long.
The cutesy cartoon characters
were almost always
pedophiles or ******* ladies.
The horror people were hands down
the most bat-**** insane of the lot.
They got into the most fights
they terrorized the kids
and they talked a lot of ****.
Would bate guys into fights.
Michael Myers would always start ****
with guys that had beautiful women with them.
It was ****** up.
The LAPD took away Freddy Kruger last month
for beating up a guy
right in front of his kids.
There was talk from the cops
about shutting down their whole thing down.
Making it illegal to dress up in costumes
and get tips.
'Panhandling' as the office had said.
But
Batman hung out with
Superman & Wonder Woman
while doing his thing.
The night before
Wonder Woman and him
had been drinking, smoking, and
they ****** once
before she asked him
what she needed to.
"We got two new guys starting tomorrow."
"What?"
"Yeah. They came up to me on the street today,
wanted to know if they could hang with us."
"Wha? What? Well...do they have costumes?"
"Yeah." She said, exhaling smoke, wrapped in the sheet on the bed.
"These guys got a Green Lantern and a Robin costume. Really good quality,
they showed me pictures. Hey, you finally got a Robin now! Isn't that great?"
"****...I don't know Diana...I was kinda liking our little *******.
"Oh come on, Bruce. It'll be good." She said, wrapping her arms around him
as he sat on the edge of the book, looking out the window.
"We can finally get the big, group tips. Like what the H-Men got going."
"Alright. That's fine."
And the next day
there they were,
Green Lantern & Robin.
Wonderful costumes, like she said
their hair color and overall appearance
spot on.
"Hey there!"
"Hello. Robin. Green Lantern."
Their gloved hands all shook.
They got acquainted and he couldnt help but like them.
Nice guys, musicians, Rockabilly guys, from Venice.
They went out into
the crowd of people
Superman's voice booming over the crowd
telling everyone that they're safe from
evil and wrong doers, blah, blah, blah,
the usual ******* that Superman always said.
Batman yelled to Robin over the enclosing crowd.
They were now fully entrenched by people
fat & sweaty
Batman's panic attack took over.
"COME ON!" He shouted over the rising crowd noise.
The dynamic duo
shoved & pushed
parting the sea of fat tourists
and breaking out onto the sidewalk.
"What's up, Batman?" Robin asked
looking up to him.
The size difference was just like in the comics
Robin was a little guy.
"I just needed to get outta there. Let's go take a lap
down Hollywood Boulevard...see what kinda cash we can grab."
"Okay, Batman."
They walked
up and down
the walk of fame
posing for a few pictures
making some kids day
with wide-eyed excitement
that will be with them forever.
They made forty bucks too.
"Alright, that's good for now. Let's grab a beer, Robin."
It was a small dive
on Hollywood Boulevard
they were two beers in
and Robin was learning a lot
about how Hollywood really was.
Some real talk from Batman to Robin.
"Yup. I moved out here in 1997. I saw that movie 'Swingers' and I thought...
I could do that, that could be my life, I want that."
"And what happened Bats?"
"Well...I came out here, went to film school, did everything I was told, and...
I still got ******." He said, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"Well what happened exactly?"
Robin's green glove, gripping the brown bottle
tilting it back, bubbles rising
"Well...ya see...when I was in film school, the instructors all told us...you either do your internship here in Hollywood or go to New York. Anywhere else and you won't be able to make it. That's what they said."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So I did my internship here in Hollywood and it was for nothing. The whole two years that I was at Faramount, I was never allowed to even touch any film equipment. Well, just to dust it off and clean it. But they didn't even try to teach me anything there. I just did food runs at lunch, got them their Starbucks in the morning, and took out the trash. Swept the parking lot, cleaned the toilets, I was a ******* janitor at that place. And you know what happened next?"
"Huh?"
"One day they just fired me. Just like that. After two years of being their ***** boy. So now I have $50,000 in student loans that I can't pay back, and a degree that got me nowhere."
"****." Robin said, finishing his beer.
"Yeah. So what do you do?"
"I'm in school for audio engineering."
"Ah...the music business eh?"
"Yeah, Batman."
"Hmm."
Batman grew silent then, just finishing his beer, and staring into the mirrored wall.
He wanted to say,
"I have 117 scripts sitting in a stack next to my t.v. That's eight screenplays a year. Robin, I've been at this for fourteen years and it doesn't get any better. I never stop trying and I keep at it, year after year. But I'm done. Get out while you
still can Robin. This city will eat you, **** you, **** you. If you still have a home, I suggest you go back to it."
Batman sat there, his beer finished, still staring straight ahead.
Robin pulled out a ten dollar bill, smiling, calling for the bartender
with that sparkle in his eye
of youth and hope.
He didn't want to say all that ****
crush that gleam in Robin's eye
like he once had.
Those were the best days
the great days
the glory days
to be young, handsome, poor, and hopeful
that you could make it
that it could happen.
So Batman didn't say another word about it.
Nope.
There were things
Robin would have to learn all on his own.
Àŧùl Jan 2014
So are her cutesy baby face,
Her twinkling watery eyes,
And her happy harpy voice.

So are her happiest smiles,
Her presence is truly divine,
And blessings for my heart.

So are her heartfelt promise,
Her thought itself is healing,
And even mighty is her love.
My HP Poem #515
©Atul Kaushal
Cassidy Vautier Jul 2014
in the most
simplistic way
i wanted him
and sometimes
i wanted all of him,
every season of his
mind and body
i wanted
cutesy notes on monday
slurred i love you friday nights
lazy sunday morning breakfast
then again
i never expected anything
from him
as much as i would have loved
to be under his skin
it was enough for my heart
to simply be
on his skin
July 26, 2014
Nomen Jun 2020
Jason and the Argonuts

I heard about it from a coworker who thought it was a joke. Had seen it on an internet message board. Found it hilarious. I don’t. I’m certain I know what’s really going on. What’s hiding in plain site. And I want to see it for myself. Seems that most people who’ve come across it just write it off as kids messing around. After all, who would take this sort of thing seriously? If somebody were to do so, goodness knows there might be a pretty big mess.
Follow the directions I found online to this place called Joe’s Pizzeria. Find the brick oven. Press a secret button. The oven changes form. There's a mahogany door. I descend a stairwell, which opens into a small basement room. There are a number of chairs arranged in a circle. Four of them are occupied.
Without making it too obvious, I try to determine the safest place to sit. Across from some hipster with a pencil-thin mustache, I see a pair of identical, androgynous twins. Both wear identical jogging suits. A few chairs to the twins’ right sits a Native American looking fellow in full headdress. He stares blankly at the wall, making a slow chopping motion with his right hand. I take a seat closer to mister moustache.
Well, this is it. There's nothing to do now but wait.
A few minutes pass in almost complete silence, save for some giggling on the part the twins. Suddenly, the basement door swings open. In walks a portly redheaded man, wearing a neon yellow shirt and green cargo pants. He smiles and waves to everyone, then sits down next to me. I try to ignore the stench of what I believe is asparagus.
“Well, I see we have a new face here tonight!” He exclaims; “Always happy to see a new face!”
He looks at me and I realize it’s time to do what I came to do.
I stand.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Hello, my name is Dan, and I’m a serial killer.”  
“Hello, Dan,” the group responds in a collective droning voice, resemblant of worshipers at Catholic mass.
“Yes, hello to you, Dan!” the man in the yellow shirt huffs out, getting to his feet. “It’s splendid that you are able to join us. I’m the group leader, Jason. Welcome to Serial Killers Anonymous!”
I simply stare at him. I have no idea what to say.
“Okay, first and foremost, I want you to know that even though you’re new, I trust you like I would any of our more established members. Call me crazy, but I think we’re all in this together! So, it should go without saying that what happens in this basement stays in this basement. All members are prohibited from discussing group with outsiders, except when promoting the idea that it’s only an internet gag. Also, to help newcomers feel more comfortable, I like to share my personal history with them right off the bat, along with how it relates to the founding of this group. Once I’ve finished, one of our older members, I suppose it will be Mark, will tell the story of how he came to join us. And after that, you’ll get a chance to speak, if you choose to do so.
“Now, as should be obvious, I am a recovering serial killer. The news media referred to me as the Coat Hanger Killer. I was credited by our local Olympia County police with the murders of twenty prostitutes. In reality, though, there were a half dozen more. And there’s no telling how many more women I would have killed if I had not confronted just what it was that drove me to commit such atrocities and dealt with it.”
I return to my seat and it hits me...this man is the Coat Hanger Killer? The Coat Hanger Killer, also known as Hanger-Man to true crime aficionados, was a hero of mine when I was younger. He got the name because he was known for inserting straightened coat hangers into his victims’ vaginas. After the Coat Hanger Killings inexplicably stopped, authorities presumed Hanger-Man to be either dead or incarcerated for other crimes. There’s no way he could be this ginger with the loud shirt.
“I was born out of wedlock to a teenage mother,” he continues. “Raised in a strict Christian household. As a naturally rebellious person, my mother resented her puritanical upbringing and began engaging in promiscuous behavior at an obscenely young age. She thought it would be liberating, but her sleeping around led to an unwanted pregnancy It is not even clear who the father – my father – might have been.
“Well, my mother wanted to get an abortion. And knowing how desperate she must have felt, I cannot blame her. But when she went to a clinic, she learned that legally speaking, minors are not allowed to decide such things on their own, which lead to my being born. Mother was less than thrilled about this. In retaliation, she became more promiscuous than ever. And it did not take long for her to get pregnant again. However, this time, she decided to take matters into her own hands –’’
The narrative is interrupted when one of the twins suddenly blurts out,“With a coat hanger!” This elicits some chuckling from the other, which dissipates upon a severe look from Hanger-Man. He continues speaking.
“Yes, that's right. She went into the bathroom and after what must have been a grisly spectacle, my mother was no more. And there’s no denying just how much this damaged me. I spent a good deal of my childhood crying alone in my room, thinking about my mother’s licentious behavior. Thinking about her death. It absolutely tore my mind to pieces! To pieces! And eventually, all my obsessing over promiscuity and coat hanger abortions led me to become the Coat Hanger Killer.”
All the true crime books I’ve read dealing with the Coat Hanger Killings suggested that the killer did not hold himself in high esteem, which accounted for his tendency to violate his victims with an object so lacking in circumference. It's amusing how wrong they seemingly were...unless there’s some oedipal thing going on here, which wouldn’t surprise me.
“I was utterly consumed by my desires.” he continues. “I obsessively thought of new ways to ****** prostitutes and not get caught. Yes, the sad truth is that my entire life revolved around serial killing for a number of years.”
He stops talking and stares up at the ceiling, letting out a deep breath, apparently orchestrating some sort of dramatic pause.
“When I finally realized that serial killing had taken over my life, I knew I had to change. And I did. And you can change, too!”
At that, he looks at me with pleading puppy dog eyes. This man, who has taken at least a score of human lives, is now using the cutesy approach in an attempt to establish a connection with me.
“Do you want to change?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“Then let’s get to it! Let the healing begin!”
And it begins.

The moustached man rises from his seat.
“Yeah, I’m Mark You all know me, except for the new guy. I’m Mark and I’m a serial killer.”
I mouth along as the group drones its greeting.
“I don’t wanna be here, but I don’t have a choice. If I don’t go to these meetings, my wife says she's gona leave me. See, this one night, I had just finished up with something I saw in a Ranch Burger parking lot. Wound up getting caught by my wife, stuffing it under our bed! I like keeping my finds under there after I’m done. It helps me get my rocks off when I’m nailing the old lady. Trouble is, before you know it, the body starts to stink. Then you gotta toss it. Good thing my wife has asnomia! Anyway, I almost had the whole thing hidden, when she comes in the bedroom. I didn’t even realize she was in the house! See, I was having some trouble getting the head underneath the bed frame, 'cause this one, lemme tell you, this one had a huge ******’ head. And my wife, she starts screaming and ****. Says something like, 'Mark, tell me you aren’t shoving a corpse under our bed! Please, tell me you aren’t!’ So, I told her I wasn’t.”
Mark’s witticism leads to raucous laughter from the twins, again ended with a severe look from Hanger Man. I stifle a yawn. The Indian remains impassive. Our orator continues with his narrative.
“I’m glad you guys find it funny, because my wife sure as **** didn’t. She fell to her knees and started crying. I swear, if there’s one thing in the world I can’t stand, it’s to see that woman cry. Breaks my heart. Except all of a sudden, she stops crying and starts screaming about how she knows what I’ve done and wants a divorce! So, I go up to her, put my arm around her shoulder, and tell her how sorry I am. Then I promise I’ll never shove another body under the bed. She asks me if I mean it and I say yes, figuring that’ll be the end of it. But then she starts begging me to swear that I won’t even score anything anymore. That I’ll quit. Quit for good!
"Well, I’d do anything to make my wife happy, right? So, I kiss her on the forehead and tell her nothing bad like that is ever going to happen again.
“But I’ll be ****** if the very next day I didn’t start getting that old itchy feeling as soon as I woke up. It was so strong I just couldn’t ignore it! Knew I was gonna have to score something soon as I got the chance. Of course, being so desperate, I wound up snagging this ***** that was all fat and gross at some supermarket. I did my business, then drove home and decided to leave the body in the garage, because I thought my wife never went in there. But go figure, she just had to pick that night to go ******’ exploring! Winds up seeing me ***** ******’ the ugliest, grossest, fattest score I ever made in my life. It was embarrassing, you know? Especially with how flat-chested my wife is.
“Anyway, to my mind, I had sort of kept my promise. I mean, I wasn’t putting anything under the bed, was I? But she didn’t see things like that. Just ran off in tears. Went right upstairs and locks herself in the bathroom. I eventually talk her out, but get the silent treatment for a couple days. Eventually, when she’s finally willing to talk, she tells me about this group. Says I go or else she’ll pack her **** and leave.”
“Excuse me, Mark,” Hanger-Man interjects, “but you are misrepresenting the character of your marriage! At last week's meeting, while you were occupied in the bathroom, your visiting wife revealed very much indeed about how you really treat her!”
At that, one of the twins decides to speak at length.
“Hey! Our dear leader isn’t going to let you get away with lying about your spouse, you know. Why, I bet he likes your wife so much, he wants to stick a coat hanger up her ****. After all, that’s the only way of showing affection he really knows.”
Both twins again erupt in laughter, this time so strongly that they fall out of their chairs. Hanger-Man leaps to his feet and begins chastising them for their lack of respect, which only seems to cause them to laugh even harder. Sensing failure, he throws up his hands in frustration and apologizes to me for not getting to my story, then announces that the meeting is to end early due to Nat and Richard's unruly behavior.
I wonder which one is which, but my interest fades. I head to the exit. Walking past Mark, I hear him talking to himself. Think I catch him say something about his “***** wife leaving,” before he sits down and buries his face in his hands. It occurs to me that a group of serial killers meeting in the secret basement of a pizzeria is strange enough without one of them bringing along his wife.
Open the door and head up the stairs. A man with flour on his hands, who was not here when I arrived, watches me coming out from behind the brick oven. I’m sure I see him wink as I leave.

Five minutes pass. I am standing in front of Joe’s, having decided to take a taxi home rather than walk. I'm trying not to stare at the Indian, who's situated next to a woman who'd been waiting outside in a **** nurse costume. He rests on his haunches, slowly rocking back and forth, still steadily chopping away at nothing. Everyone else from group has departed, the twins notably in a chauffeured limousine, whose driver bore a striking resemblance to Gene Wilder.
I feel uncomfortable. Perhaps I should try to make conversation.
“I’m pretty tired. Hope a cab comes soon.”
A grin appears on the strange man's face, which seems to stretch all the way back to his ears. The tomahawking stops. I wonder what would happen if I were to reintroduce myself.
“My name is Dan, as I said inside, but I think I should make a more formal introduction. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve never met a Native American before.”
“Chief Killing ******, round eye. Pleasure is all mine. And the reason you haven't met any of us is because there are not that many of us.”
A taxi mercifully appears.
“Yes, you’re right. See you next time, Chief.”

Romance

All alone in my apartment. I can find no reason not to give in to myself.
Down the stairs. Make my way through the vestibule and onto the street. Experience love at first sight with the anorexic looking woman standing on the corner of Seton Place and Ocean Parkway, waiting for the R-13 bus.  Approaching her, I get aroused. Ask for the time. She turns to speak with me. I pretend to examine the bus schedule. I have not looked a woman in the eyes since I began ******* at the age of eleven.
She tells me the time and I thank her, then quickly turn away so she will not notice my arousal. Our brief conversation replays itself in my mind until the bus comes.
We board and I sit as far away from her as possible, trying to position myself in such a way that my ******* will remain unseen. I wonder what stop she’ll get off at. I’ll get off there, too.

Our stop happens to be 2nd Street, between Peters Avenue and Chambers. My ******* has subsided. I am able to rise from my seat without concern. She exits from the front and I from the back.
Hide behind a minivan. Peer around it and see her enter a nearby apartment complex. She lives right here. As she fumbles around in her handbag looking for the right key, somebody wearing a U.S. Navy “Fear the Goat” baseball cap storms out of the building, slamming into her. She loses her balance and falls. The man continues on his way. He reaches the corner and turns out of view. She stands and regains her bearings, giving me time to ready the handkerchief and chloroform that I always keep with me.
Soak the handkerchief in chloroform.
Look to the left. To the right. Nobody is coming. Dash out from behind the minivan and head for my patient, who is just now opening the door.
Before clasping the rag over her mouth, I realize I have not planned our session very well. Where will I take her? Will we be seen? It doesn’t matter. I’ll think of something if the need arises.
After a brief struggle, my patient slumps over, dropping her keys. I bend over to get them, trying to cop a feel on the way back up. Enter the building and head for the nearest apartment door. Suspect it will be hers.
I keep her arm over my shoulder. Hold her by the waist, keeping her semi-*****. The feeling of having her limp by my side I can barely describe.
Now we’re almost there.
Almost –
I feel the rudiments of an ******* forming as I lock the door behind us. Home sweet home.

We have been in her bedroom for long enough to prepare for our session. I gaze at my patient, supine and unmoving. Seeing such perfection makes me lose control. Open my zipper, reliving each moment of tying her wrists to her bedposts. How I bound her with old, unwashed *******. ******* I found balled up, forgotten under her dresser, just waiting to be sniffed. I start jerking myself off. And this, I believe, means our session is ready to begin.
"Well, to start things off, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself? Just whatever comes to mind."
Silence.
“How about your your name?”
Silence.
“What do you hope to get out of therapy?”
Silence.
“Where do you tend to purchase your feminine hygiene products?”
Silence.
“Do you generally get along well with your family?”
Silence.
“What is your favorite color?”
Silence.
"What’s your favorite word?"
Silence.
“Are you perhaps feeling a bit uncomfortable at the moment?”
Silence.
“Do you find me attractive?”
Silence.
“Assuming you no longer do, at what age did you stop believing in the tooth fairy?”
Silence.
“Can you name a word that begins with the letter ‘s’?”
Silence.
Stop mid-stroke. My patient has not yet moved a muscle, made a sound, nor otherwise offered any response. Perhaps it’s not surprising that she would show so little trust in her psychotherapist.
"If you are going to be this uncommunicative, there is no reason for our session to continue. Good riddance to whatever is lurking around in your id; I see that I have no choice but to terminate our relationship."
Shove my ***** back into my pants. Hands won’t stop shaking. Stumble out of the bedroom. Out of the apartment. Onto a quiet, empty street. Still shaking. Head for the bus station, but can’t make it halfway there before feeling on the verge of collapse. Make a detour into an alleyway. Fall to my knees. *****. Curl up on my side and my mind slips away...

Going Under

Apparently, time passes. I find myself standing in front of my place of employment, the Pointer Funeral Parlor. Grasping the doorknob with my handkerchief, as I can't stand to touch it with my bare hand, I open the door. Head in. Immediately see the old man, Mr. Pointer, the owner. He approaches me. As I put my handkerchief away, he shakes a newspaper in my face.
“Singer!” You know the news about that ****** downtown?”
“The ******..?”
“Look at this paper!”
He slaps the newspaper into my chest.
“Somebody smothered a woman to death with a rag soaked in chloroform. Used so much that her heart crapped out. They found traces of it in her nose and throat. Seems she died pretty quickly.
“But guess what? She came from a loaded family and we’ve got her! Sam’s downstairs with the body right now. Probably almost done.”
“I am aware of what happened, Mr. Pointer. I knew the girl. She lived just a short bus ride from my apartment. May I go downstairs? I’d like to pay my respects.”
The old man eyes me suspiciously.
“That’s what funerals are for. I pay you to keep this place tidy, not ogle the clients.”
“I will have to sterilize the embalming room when Sam finishes, anyway.”
The old man gestures around the room, “What about all the garbage here that needs to be cleaned up? I can’t have my place of business looking like an embarrassment.”
“Shouldn’t take longer than a moment, Mr. Pointer.”
“Make sure everything is immaculate! I don’t need a custodian who is unwilling to do his work. I know what you're up to. Did you think that I’d believe your story about knowing the client?”
“She was…something of a casual acquaintance. I did not know her very well. She was not in the habit of opening up. A quiet sort of person, really.”
“Well then your grief shouldn't hinder you in performing your duties here as my employee! I swear, if not for the fact that there just aren't many people lining up for jobs cleaning funeral parlors, I’d have fired you years ago. Now get to work. You can do the downstairs later.”
              Mr. Pointer scowls at me and takes his leave. When he is out of sight, I make my way to the basement.

                “Dan Singer! You little snake in the grass, what are you doing down here? Don’t you have work to do upstairs?”
“Your grandfather said I could take a break and see you.”
“Ha! I’m sure he did. “
Samantha rushes in my direction. She smells strongly of formaldehyde. I pretend to find the odor unpleasant, so as to be able to look around the embalming room as she approaches me.
“I’m so happy you’re here. I could use a little break, myself.”
My eyes settle on the body of my former patient, which rests on a table on the far side of the room. Everything else seems very far away.
“…I don’t know why I ever got into the profession of ******* around with dead bodies. Stupid family business. It’s gross. Well, I do tend to enjoy the macabre. But the way you Jews handle things is far better. Just put the corpse in the ground. Be done with it. I know you haven’t been religious since you left your family, but…”
Our session seems as if it had taken place a lifetime ago. It's almost as if it couldn't have been real at all.
“…And the fact that I’m stuck working for my grandfather is just one more pain in the ***, you know? He really is one stereotypical grumpy old man. Hey, Dan? Hello! Earth to Dan!”
“Oh, sorry about that. I’m a little bit distracted. I was a friend of that woman over there.”
Samantha’s voice takes on an almost annoyed quality.
“You were? I’m so sorry. A close friend?”
“No. More like casual acquaintances, really. I just find it strange that she'd wind up here.”
“Pretty ****** up, isn’t it? So many young women disappearing, or plain turning up dead these days. It had me on edge for a while. Remember a few months back when that lady disappeared from the Ranch Burger? I eat there all the time! Couldn’t believe it. Thank goodness I read about that goof serial killer group. Helped me laugh about the whole thing.”
“I’m sure whoever thought it up must be a real character.”
“Oh! You should totally check out the site it was on, if you haven’t. Didn’t I send you an email with the link? I forget the name offhand. With the Slinkee logo. It has all sorts of weird ****. There was a great joke on there yesterday. Something like, ‘Did you hear about the guy who liked to play Russian roulette while *******? He really shot his load!’ Ha!”
I force a smile.
“Samantha, don’t ever let anyone tell you that you don’t have a great sense of humor.”
She seems very pleased and smiles back at me, drawing a bit closer.
“Uh, Sam. What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Closer.
“Uh, Sam?”
“Huh?“
I turn toward my former patient, looking for help. She is in no position to offer any. “Dan, are you all right? You don’t need to be so shy when I’m around. We’ve known each other for years. I know that you're upset about your friend. You can talk to me about it, if you want.”
“I'm sorry, but I don't.”
Samantha frowns.
“Well, if you do, you know where to find me. Anyway, I’m going to take a trip to the  restroom upstairs, then speak with my grandfather. Maybe you can say goodbye to your friend while I’m gone.”
“Oh, yes. It was nice chatting with you, Sam.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Samantha fusses with her hair a bit and heads to the stairs.
Up the stairs.
The basement door closes.
Now.
Rush across the room. Within seconds, aroused and exposed, I empty myself over the face of my object of affection. Fumble about in my pocket for the handkerchief. Clean her nose and mouth. Run to the stairs. Out the basement. Out the building. This is the last time I will ever pass through that door. I do not even think of looking back.

The Golden Fleece

It's that day again. On my way to group. I have not returned to the Pointer Funeral Parlor since reuniting with my patient. Samantha has called me several times and left messages inquiring as to my whereabouts. Mr. Pointer has called once and informed me that should I not return to work, I can consider myself fired. He seems to not have considered the possibility that I might have quit.
Approaching Joe’s Pizzeria, I see the twins. They are engaged in what appears to be a lively conversation.
“You see, ****, here’s what it is. I fear death just slightly more than I hate life. That’s what keeps me from offing myself.”
“We all appreciate that you're hanging in there.”
“Oh, *******. I’m glad you can find satisfaction being a nabob trust fund baby, but I’ve never given enough of a ****.”
“I employ my position in a number of ways that enhance our fine city’s cultural standing.”
“What? You mean like giving money to museums and the opera? You think anybody cares that you’re a patron of the farts? Opera only exists so that fat Italian guys can get laid.”
“*******.”
The twins stare at one another for a bit.
“You know, I appreciate the arts. Really, I do. I once stuck my **** in a copy of Hamlet.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. Your copy, in fact.”
“Disgusting.”
“Then I stuck it in a copy of Othello. After that, Hamlet just wouldn’t do it for me anymore.”
Both twins are overcome with fits of laughter. After the better part of a minute, it subsides.
“Ah, Dan. Good evening to you.”
“Hello, Dan!”
“Hello.”
“Off anyone recently?”
“Oh, don’t put it so boorishly.”
“No.”
“Oh really?”
“Even my sibling reads the Times.”
“There was a great story recently.”
“A crime story.”
“A ******.”
“A woman was found dead in her apartment. ******* all *****-like to her bedposts with her underwear. Nothing was taken and the woman hadn’t been sexually assaulted. She hadn't even been undressed. She'd simply been given a fatal dose of chloroform.”
“How strange so much information would be given in the paper.”
“It is curious, indeed, ****. But this is a strange world and these are strange times. And I’m willing to bet that our friend over here has been contributing to the strangeness of things. I mean, this chloroform killing was quite obviously not done by us.”
“We prefer little boys.”
“No. You prefer little boys. I also like little girls. And I have to endure as best I can our monotonous and boring escapades. Ours, as you know, is an associated effort.”
“Little girls irritate me.”
“Well wouldn’t you want to ******* **** them, then? Ugh. Brother. Anyway, we know we didn’t do this last ******.“
“And it certainly wasn't Chief Killing ******. He’d have made a far bigger spectacle of the thing.”
“So, since Jay’s no longer active and leaving bodies behind isn't Mark’s style, that leaves you.”
“It might have been somebody from outside of group,” I suggest.
A half smile spreads across one of the twins' faces.
“What! Are you denying it? Why the **** would you attend a serial killer support group if you aren’t going to dish out all the greusome details of your ***** deeds?”
“Some things are best left private,” I respond.
“Yeah, like a *****’s privates?”
One of them chuckles quietly.
“Hang on, are you intimating that our friend was unable to perform sexually?”
“I think he was limp as the left side of a stroke victim.”
“Oh, was that the case, Dan? Were you unable to attain arousal?”
“I do not want to talk about this.”
“Oh, of course you don’t. I wouldn’t.”
“Me either.”
“Well then, about what would you like to talk? We do so love making friendly chit chat, you know.”
“Nothing. There's no time. Group is about to start.”
“Oh, he's right. We should get heading in. I bet Mark has some great stories about his **** of a wife for us this week.”
“I am certain that he does.”
Wondering why I even came back for another meeting and strongly wishing that I were not in the twins' company, I enter the pizzeria. They follow closely behind. We make our way to the basement.
Everyone from last week's meeting is present, along with an excited seeming man. He wears a grey fedora and grey trench coat, under which he appears not to be wearing any pants.
“Welcome, welcome!” Hanger-Man exclaims in greeting. “We've all been waiting for you, but me especially. I must make a very important announcement! We will not be having regular group. Sadly, this means that Dan will not be able to tell us his story. Sorry, Dan. Still, everybody please be seated, so that we may begin.”
Everyone takes a seat.
“It is so wonderful to have the whole lot of you here. The twins. Mark. The Chief. Dan. What a splendid group! Truly, just the sort of people I think I need to begin the first stages of a wonderful project on which I have been working with my very good friend Marvin. Say hello, Marvin.”
“Hellooo, Marvin!” exclaims the guy in the trench coat, waving his arms above his head.
“Really enthusiastic guy, isn't he?” sneers Mark.
“I find his enthusiasm infectious!” retorts Hanger-Man. “And I am certain that you all will as well, once you hear a little bit about what he and I have been planning. You see,  I have always seen our meetings as potentially being much more than just a support group for individuals sharing our particular affliction.
“So much more! You guys don't even know the half of it!” Marvin exitedly chimes in.
“That's exactly right!” exclaims Hanger-Man, giving a thumbs up. “For you see, given my personal history, I knew I could help others overcome their murderous desires. After all, I was able to overcome my own. However, I realized that beyond simply assisting people in learning to control themselves, it would be better to also focus their energies in a new direction. Yes, to focus their energies in a new, profitable direction! For what I envisioned would function not merely as a support group, but as the core of what can only be called a great exercise in entrepreneurship! Isn't that right, Marvin?”
“Yep. Jason used to talk to me all the time about how he had these wonderful ideas, but lacked the people he needed to put them into action.”
“Excuse me!” interrupts one of the twins. “But just who's this Marvin guy, anyway?”
“I was wondering the same thing, myself,” adds the other.
Hanger-Man slaps the palm of his hand to his forehead.
“Ack! I suppose I should have made a proper introduction, what with the sensitive nature of our dealings here. Well, you see, Marvin is an old friend of mine. We grew up together. The two of us lost touch as teenagers, but rekindled our relationship a few years ago, after bumping into one another at an upscale cat house in Las Vegas.”
“I was there to **** a ******,” explains Marvin. “I'd never ****** a ******. Always wanted to, but never had the chance.”
He looks around the room as if hoping for a sign that someone else might share this particular interest. Not finding one, Marvin sighs.
“I'd seen a TV show where a guy went to Vegas and was able to **** a ******. It's how I got the idea.”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat, Marv!” shouts one of twins, barely able to refrain from laughing.
“All right, all right,” says Hanger-Man. “As I was trying to explain, Marvin and I wound up reconnecting after many years of not having seen one another. It took no time at all for us to pick up our friendship right where we had left off. And even though I was a bit wary of doing so, I found myself admitting to him that I, his old friend Jason, was the notorious Coat Hanger Killer.”
Marvin solemnly nods his head.
“It was a bit of a shock.”
“I know it was, Marv, but you took it in stride.”
“Excuse me!” again interrupts a twin. “But why the **** isn't this guy wearing any pants?”
Marvin, apparently embarrassed by this remark, attempts to adjust his trench coat so that it will hang lower below his knees. It doesn't.
“Enough!” erupts Hanger-Man. “No more interruptions! I'm trying to tell a story, here!”
He scowls at the twins. They adjust themselves in their seats and cross their hands in their laps, each smiling mischievously. Hanger-Man clears his throat, then resumes his tale.
“All right, it was not too long after my confession to Marvin that I began to reflect upon what I'd been doing with my life. I suppose finally opening up about my activities to someone else allowed me to also be more honest with myself. I searched my soul and was able to trace the origin of my behavior back to what had happened with my mother. Not too long after that, I abandoned serial killing. Yes, Marvin was the catalyst for my abandoning serial killing.”
“I was very proud of you,” says Marvin. “It was a big change to make.”
“Indeed it was, my friend. But I was able to make it, thanks in no small part to you. And so,  after forsaking the murderous path on which I was traveling, I began contemplating what I next wanted to do with my life. And it was at this time that I first began to develop the idea of forming our group.”
“We started discussing it, you see, over drinks at a return visit to the ***** house,” adds Marvin. “Jason told me that he wanted to do some outreach. I told him it would be a great idea and everything picked up from there.”
“It occurred to me,” continues Hanger-Man, “that the group should encourage its members to focus their energies on something other than committing murders.”
“You mean that entrepreneur ****?” asks Mark.
“Entrepreneurship, yes,” answers Hanger-Man.
“Jason had such a great idea, I immediately signed up,” says Marvin, “and I think all of you should as well.”
“Signed up for what, exactly?” Mark asks him.
“A no fail money making opportunity!”
The twins look at one another, grinning. Mark's face lights up.
“Well, ****! I could use some extra cash,” he says. “I need to buy a taller bed frame.”
Hanger-Man smiles in elation.
“I think, Mark, that this might be just the thing for you!”
“Well, how's it work?”
“It's quite simple, really” explains Marvin. “You first join the program, which Jason has named 'The Golden Group,' by paying an initial fee. Then you convince others to join. With their payments, you begin making back your original investment. When the people you recruit begin finding new investors, you get to collect on what they earn. So, as time goes on and more people join, the money just rolls right in!”
“Stop! Hold it right there!” cries out a twin. “You're trying to get us involved in a pyramid scheme!”
“Why, you scoundrel!” shrieks the other.
“Now just a minute, guys,” whines Marvin. “You have not even heard us all the way out.”
“Nor will we!” say the twins in unison. They clasp hands and rise from their seats.
“Hey, what gives?” asks Mark. “You telling me that this whole time we've been here, the group was really some scam?”
“That's right,” says a twin. “Jay and his friend have been waiting for enough people to arrive so that they could begin fleecing us all out of our money.”
“Come on, now,” pleads an offended looking Hanger-Man. “If I were really trying to do something like that, why wouldn't I have just targeted the two of you? You’re so well off that I'd imagine you have more money than everyone else here combined will see in their lifetimes!”
Chief Killing ******, who has been sitting silently throughout the meeting, suddenly springs to his feet and cries out at the top of his lungs. Everyone in the room looks at him. He shrugs his shoulders and walks out as if nothing happened.
“What the **** was that?” Mark wonders aloud.
“Who cares?” snorts a twin in response. “My sibling and I are out of here, too. Let's beat it.”
The Twins bow toward Hanger-Man. Before he can make an attempt to dissuade them from leaving, they turn and begin skipping away. I hear them laughing as they make their way up the stairs.
Hanger-Man tells them to wait.
“Will somebody explain to me what the **** is going on?” Mark demands. “This group's seriously just some scam?”
Hanger-Man looks at him pathetically.
“No, no, there's been a misunderstanding, Mark. Only a misunderstanding, that's all. Perhaps I should not have invited Marvin to sit in tonight. I thought that with the recent addition of Dan, the time had come to introduce everyone to my greater plans.”
I have had enough. Stand and rush for the door. Head up the stairs. Hanger-Man and Marvin yelling at me all the while. Exit the pizzeria and light a cigarette. I am halfway up the block when I hear someone call out to me from an alley not far off. I go to investigate.
“It is true, indeed, what they say. You cannot trust the white man.”
Peer into the alley and see Chief Killing ******, standing idly with his hands by his sides.
“Come here, I have something for you.”
Not entirely sure why I am doing so, I drop my cancer stick and enter the alley and approach the Chief. He smiles strangely and removes a silver whistle from behind the feathers of his headdress.
“I wonder, do you know why I am called Chief Killing ******?”
“No, I do not.”
“Then let me show you.”
              He places the whistle to his lips. A piercng shriek echoes through the alley.
               “Now you will see.”
              Nothing seems to be happening. I stare at the Chief in confusion for a few seconds, before I hear the clinking of high-heeled shoes. Dozens of pairs of high-heeled shoes, all of which sound like they are heading for the alley.
“I would like to introduce you to my *******.”
I see a series of strumpets, walking single file. They break line. Cover the wall to my left, to my right. They take formation in front of a dumpster at the back end of the alley, then finally close off the entryway. All wear pink miniskirts and black corsets. Black garters. Overly large, golden hoop earrings dangle comically from their ears as they take their places. The Chief stretches his arms above his head and yawns.
“Now they will show you what they do.”
More quickly than I can react, several of the prostitutes grab me from behind. One whispers into my ear that it will be fun to **** on my severed ****. She kisses me gently on the cheek. I am unable to refrain from getting an *******.
“Farewell, friend,” says Chief Killing ******.
A short, Arab looking ****** emerges from behind those standing at the alley's entrance. She makes her way in my direction, licking her lips and slowly drawing a forefinger across her neck. She holds a machete in her left hand.
I make no effort to struggle as I am forced to my knees. The ***** raises the machete above her head.
“This will not hurt a bit, my beloved.”
Close my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. I know it won't.
An ironic and contemporary take on the classic Orpheus myth by a modern Beatnik
Cam Arsenault Feb 2013
If I am your crush, then adore me from afar.

Love me throughout the good times and the bad times.

Reminisce our friendship and let it embrace you.

Let it take you to that special place where you can feel alive.


If I am your crush, laugh with me about the stupidest things

Also, laugh at me for being weird. If anything, laugh too much.

Laughter is the best medicine.


If I am your crush, be the girl that I want to adore. Be cute, be adorkable.

And also be clever. Be a dime a dozen. Woo me over until i’m blue in the face.

That isn’t hard to do.


If I am your crush, then lie with me underneath the stars and tell me you love me.

Make me believe it, let those words flow from your mouth and into my soul.

Take me out on dates and if we’re too lazy to go out then we’ll stay home, cuddle and watch movies.

You know, cutesy stuff.


But most importantly, if I am your crush....

Never let me go, because you'll stay right here, in my feeble weakened heart. Not wanting to escape.
Alea Demetria Jan 2012
I don't know anything anymore.
I'm sick of this feeling and im sick of you.
If you ever call me another cutesy nickname
i will punch you in the face

If you ever try to come back after you realize no one will ever love you like i have,
i will slam the door
Don't even think about bringing up old inside jokes,
i will have forgotten them by then, ive already began to

Forget about trying to fix things cuz you know we're meant to be together,
you can only try to fix something so many times until its completely broken.

You're insane if you think we get past this,
even if i do forgive there will be no forgetting
Don't bother saying "i miss you"
because all i've been doing is running away, i can't wait to move away from you

But the worst thing you could possibly say is " i love you"
because im not completely sure yet if this wall i'm trying to build against you will still be standing.
As much as i wish you could be standing on my porch right now on your knees, my door's been open too long and the best thing for me is to turn the lock.

I'm done standing around waiting for this miracle that will never happen.
"Love is like glass, sometimes it is better to leave it in pieces rather than trying to put it back together"
There is a line between being friends and always being there for you.
It is a fine line, but a line none the less.
You drew it with an ink of lies and coldhearted decisions.
My child Before you were born

I use to eat peaches almost every single day

and now every eve of your birth I eat a peach

on August the 5th Peaches offer a little more friendship

than the cutesy little straight pink flower.

Bring warmth to your belly and the fruit feed more of your soul.

What I mean is I am your mother, the grateful and tender feeling one.

Your friend.

Even when it's my end.

On its own, the meaning of the fruit

in this quiet tone is at once gentler

and stronger in thankfulness.

Gentle is the true meaning of peaches.

Peach is the meaning of desire, my desire to see you succeed

and I know that your true love will too.

My child, I love you.
SophiaAtlas Apr 2019
I walk to school with my best friend
Surprise, surprise, she's late again
She's got a club she wants me in
Don't think I've ever raised a pen
I'll consider it, sure
No fan of literature
Books with less pictures than words
Leave me a little bit bored
But hey, they promised cupcakes
So it's a chance that I'll take
Four gorgeous girls await me
Okay, I think that I'll stay
Sayori's aloof and kooky
Natsuki's sweet and cutesy
Yuri is deep and brooding
Monika's brains and beauty
There's a festival needs planning
Swear I won't leave them hanging
So many clubs to rival us
I guess it's just the five of us
Just the five of us
We can make it if we try
But each day that passes by
Is tearing pages from my mind
Just the five of us
No escaping if I tried
Though these maidens might seem kind
There's something going on behind
They looked so sad and lonely
I sold my soul for poetry
This hell is members only
Why did I say Okie-Doki?
I walk to school alone again
I'm not a guy with many friends
I've got no club, I've time to spend
So I read manga and stay in
I run into Monika
Says that I should just join hers
Sounds like a club for books with words
But they need some more members
I say okay
I'll come along for just one day
But just you try and get away
When 3 gorgeous girls beg you to stay
Sa- Y oRi'S a LoOf AnD k-Oo Ky
Natsuki's a brutish cutesy
Yuri is too in to me
Monika's brains and beauty
It's almost festival time
Could say we're cutting it fine
The task may seem laborious
I wOnDeR wHeRe SaYoRi Is?
I guess it's just the four of us
Just the four of us
We can make it if we try
But each day that passes by
Is tearing pages from my mind
Just the four of us
No escaping if I tried
Though these maidens might seem kind
There's something going on behind
They looked so sad and lonely
I sold my soul for poetry
This hell is members only
Why did I say Okie-Doki
Well I'm back at school again
Monika's my only friend
Monika's my everything
My beginning and my end
Wait a second... weren't there other girls-
NO.
MoNiKa'S aloof and kooky
MoNiKa'S sweet and cutesy
MoNiKa'S is deep and brooding
MoNiKa'S brains and beauty
MoNiKa sees right through me
MoNiKa'S all that you need
MoNiKa'S all that you need
MoNiKa'S aLl tHaT yOu NeEd
I'm not an ugly guy
But I can't understand why
She'd be so utterly in love she'd leave her club mates to die
Monika's obsession is ominous to be honest
Omnipotent Goddess concocting demonic sonnets
I could delete her but I never could harm Monika
So I'm trapped here forever.
Where's my harmonica?
Never thought I'd get a girl
Literally out of this world
Guess she controls the universe
Looks like it's just the two of us
Just the two of us
In this classroom in the sky
Crimes of passion are just fine
When enacted on AI
Just the two of us
Quite a drastic pick up line
Leaving characters to die
Just to guarantee you're mine
She seemed so sad and lonely
Don't think there's any hope for me
This hell is members only
Why did I say Okie Dokie?
Why did I say Okie Dokie?
Why did I say Okie Dokie?
Why did I say Okie Dokie?
Why did I say Okie Dokie?
I put on a cutesy voice because I’m the unexpected murderer of happiness. It makes more of an impact acting like a dumb blonde ***** to society’s expectations, that when I come out with ****** methods one wants to scream and run away. I’ll tell you what makes me squirm, being touched and googling fear of holes. Those pictures make me want to ***** and **** myself at the same time. Gore and pain…I can handle. But loads of deep circular imprints on the skin from leaning on things…no.no.no. I can’t. It will make me implode.
https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=trypophobia&client;=firefox-a&hs;=AeF&rls;=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel;=fflb&source;=lnms&tbm;=isch&sa;=X&ei;=R-q6U--BKszo7AbvwYHoCQ&sqi;=2&ved;=0CAYQ_AUoAQ&biw;=1280&bih;=913
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
the undulating structure of the sea, woman

~for Megan Sherman~

you message me a brief, sweet like of
my poem's structure,  describing it as
"undulating like the sea."

you deserve much more that I can now provide,
the hour late, yet your succinct observation
engages my retinas deeper into oceans of imagination.

but told to "turn off the light,",
a standard life intrusion,
so for once in my life,
perhaps brevity, may here gain the upper hand.

but probably not.
no, this poem does not undulate.

I live by the sea, and its habits, guises and habitués,
her stockings and high heels, and come hither looks,
well known to me. Ha! most nights it even feeds me.

as I compose, she hides quiet, fifty yards away, no more,
causing no trouble tonight, yet seen it don and unmask
a schizophrenia of multiple personalities most terrible
in minutes as short as seconds.

rage and frothy spit, begging she be allowed to
swallow whole men and ship, harboring monsters,
that populate the nightmares of one called Jonah me.

her murdering riptides and lunar tricks
that are mathematically calculable and therefore predictable,
even then, wise man still most helpless charmed by
the fake news of the surficial, gentile, ladylike, curtsying, cutesy lapping, waving oh hello waves,
drown us with the greatest of ease,
which is what I think you mean when you say
the sea **** be undulating, performing its best and finest trickery.

yes, the sea is a women and its fluidity, nonpareil.

Have you ever seen a woman undulate?
see my notes below;

when the sea or a woman undulate,
things too oft die.  

this poem is unstructured, its heartbeat,
arrhythmic, and now, well, lady past midnight,
indeed, unhappy, unsure of the why of this poem,
its purpose undefined but you said:

                          un   
du
                    lat
           ing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

causing the sovereignty of my un
-conscious
to see a ballerina, her arms, moving unnaturally,
laying herself down to die

did I forget to mention
this poem was born on the ferry crossing the sea,
required to reach the island keep where
the home that I now lay prone in bed now writing
almost, soon enough,
"the end,"
having read your words, felt a poem instant birthing,
as the bow cut thru calm, undulating waves
while a storm in my eyes, the rancor of experience screamed,
my aminotic fluids joining the waters beneath my feet,
your words caused

and a ballerina waving arms swept me low,
asking, imploring,
watch me undulate unto death


and better now I understand the why of you,
for we both ****** addicts,
enslaved by the undulating
arms of our muses, and this then,
the nature of our
shared genius

so be wary of the sea, and writing, the ****** of poetry addiction,
given half a chance,
you will quite happily drown
when they both beckon,
come hither.


<•>
8-19-17 ~ 8-20-17
11::04 pm - 3:24am
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=G_LHgXxz9VE

an amazing thing to see
Bogdan Dragos Oct 2019
well
there's plenty of cutesy names to
call one's children
but his was 'unlovable trash'
He remembered it from the time he was in the crib
They held him there
for longer than most parents
held their kids in cribs. Though only dad
called him so
because he constantly claimed he wasn't his

unlovable trash

he had the wrong skin tone
was too pale
with curly orange hair
and freckles

but mom always pretended she didn't
hear
the words
unlovable trash
she would act as if they were never uttered

and growing up
he thought
unlovable trash was a good thing
thought it was how you show love to your loved
ones

"Mom, you’re unlovable trash."

she was so happy to hear it
she burst into tears and went into the
kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine
and drank it all by herself. What an
unlovable trash she was

Unfortunately
by the time he could pronounce the lovely
words
father was no longer in his life
but father too
was an unlovable trash
Amy Perry May 2014
Born with a scorn
For the body adorned
With ribbons and bows
And told, "How she glows!"
"I am not a girl,"
He boldly tells the world.

Born with a feeling forlorn,
Feeling emotionally torn--
If I am a boy,
Why am I annoyed
When told not to dance,
And no dresses, just pants.
"I am not a boy,"
She says, cutesy and coy.
Transgendered Children have my upmost respect and admiration.
Robin Carretti Feb 2019
Going left a smile
green* bluesy* drift
Getting out of debt
The heartedly so flowery
rosy ring around
Gifted box
*Valentine Rosy*

I box heads over
puppy tails
cozy firey
Love diary doing the
Cutesy
Bow Wow parade
Those red hot lips
cascades
she's... the... lie...
The hue (Anchor- Blue)
Gotcha  "Eyes Baby blue
Clue"

To cross my red heart
And hope not to die
The Lady's
finger (Godiva)
  I-spy finger*
Heartless Diva
The fork of the road

Lies of the
dead ringer
He points his finger
Face to two face
facelift?
Boom-Boom

a car crash just a dash

Her beats and hearts

What a crush to her
    left
Tell me sweet lies
         I box gift
Oh! Yes you're
right
Like the scoundrel
The damsel in distress
sweet morsel

I sir box like spots spread
Like the (Chickenpox)
Hearing lies tons of
squirrels
Like Botox Plastic
Rascals
I-box ties
Hallmark, I love you lies
Superman Clark
Outfoxed the ballpark

Little lies blue
big shark
Smartphone I Sir bark
Red Valentine love walk
People are the luckiest
      I- wish
Close your eyes sweet lies

Sweet I-Box in Trio

CEO Watching "TV FIO"  
Podcast little lies turn
into big lies
Ballot Political list

Romantic cutout card lies
Tell me, Little Lies he trips
Electric lips music chair
Open eyes full shut lips
This is a little thought turn into a big I box cut out cards I seem to like the most Sweet Valentine or a little lie lets breathe remembering the classics romantically crossing the Atlantic the truth and lies can catch a moment hold onto them electric lips will win
Sleepless K Dec 2012
There's this guy I've met
And he's nice and lovely,
He's warm and fuzzy,
And very lovely.

We're together, I think
And it's very sweet,
He holds my hand
And kisses my cheek.

"I like you." He said
And that was exciting
His affection, addictive
And very inviting.

Fancies me, I know
And turns me on,
When he touches,
It wont take me long.

Wore his top, I did
And it was cutesy,
Kissed my neck,
And pinched my *****.

There's this guy I've met
And he's nice and lovely,
He's warm and fuzzy,
And very lovely.
JC Lucas Nov 2013
Sit broken
Sulkin'
Softly weepin' wisps which then
Withdraw themselves from all of this
Fickle
And fiendish
You'd have my arms and legs bound tight
You're sulkin'
Broken
Without remorse, without respite
I'm nervous,
Workless
And functionless in all your eyes
You're girlish
And cutesy
You give them eyes to get replies
I've never-
You've never?
You finish thoughts and work your little fingers down my
Spine

-chorus-
Uproot the weeds inside you
Fine
I'm through with being fruitless and
Surprised
By old attempts to change our ways
Besides
We're newly polished anyways
We're newly painted, off the line

The bitter
And nameless
Are working after hours to reface this
And shame it
It sits and spins and multiplies
With frequence
I feel it
I feed a framework filament fire
And hapless
You're hopeless
I'm hoping on another line-
To find out what's been sanctified
Who sacrificed to tranquilize
And backfired by bullshittin'
So now I'm sleepy saunterin'
To see what life's like on the other side

(Chorus)

-breakdown-
If we cared
We could whisper cloudy whiteness where there
Used to be only filth and flies
I'm sick of sentimentalism
Sick of sinking in
I'm feeling fine.

-chorus-
Uproot the weeds inside you
Fine
I'm through with being fruitless and
Surprised
By old attempts to change our ways
Besides-
We're newly puffed up anyways
I've walked the line from Z to A
We're freshly painted hypocrites
At least this time I won't be so surprised.

-fin-
This is actually a song. Sung, not spoken.
This delusional concept of dressing up in your finest threads just to sit in some quiet, ridiculously-named, fancy establishment that has four walls and a few toilets and neatly-folded napkins, spotless silverware, and an overly-priced menu just to talk about some ******* that you pulled out of your *** when your arm was being stretched to the max trying to reach for the stack of crisp twenties that the ATM viciously spat at you is simply ****** up.

Yeah… that’s what I thought until I met her.

You know, “the one.”

The one that all the guys say you’re ***** whipped about.

That one.

She has her **** together. She is driven, goal-oriented, smart, funny, and **** in that hippie/bohemian kinda way, except that she wears deodorant and shaves her legs.

She even shaves….ha! I’ll stop. I’m just toying with ya. But she does shave.

She even has dimples, man.

Dimples.

And guess who the lucky ******* is that has the best table in the house sitting directly across from her, staring into those brown, puppy eyes??

My ***.

Then, without warning, this horrible, invasive, mood-altering, uncanny, uncouth, *******-of-a-question barges right in.  It asks, “How did you end up with her??”

Suddenly I find myself in a western movie, and this bow-legged ******* walks in asking for me.  The double doors behind him swing back and forth in rapid motion.  I don’t want to cause a ruckus, so I do what any real gentleman does: take it outside and settle it High Noon style.  I stare into his eyes (they’re brown too, but not like hers), and his eye lids begin to slightly twitch.  I draw my pistol from my hip and shoot him right between those eyes; blow the smoke away from the heated barrel; spin my pistol around a few times; and in the holster it goes.

Problem solved.

She and I start jawing after the waiter with the long rod lodged in his *** goes to fetch our excessively-priced wine.
I swear he said his name is Skip or Kip or… ah who cares?
I continue staring into the eyes of the most beautiful woman in the world.
She begins to tell me about her bittersweet day, so I cross my arms and lean in a little. All my focus is on her and of course her **** mouth too.
God, she has beautiful lips….
She’s telling me about her day at work – at the vet, that is.
She’s a veterinarian.
Anyway, there’s this little black-and-white, speckled miniature dachshund named Teagan that has been staying at the vet for a few months now, and it’s made a full recovery.
She’s telling me this story with such great passion and zeal, but she’s frowning.
This wealthy, elderly couple adopted it today, and Teagan is gone.
She grabs my hand and apologizes for being such a “downer”.

“I sorry,” she says in one of those baby voices.

Is that a pouty lip???

**** Me...

Did I really just witness a pouty lip form before my very eyes??

Did she actually just talk like a baby???

Plain and simple, I don’t stand for that cutesy, baby *******, that pathetic material pedaled by those chumps who pull that “good guys come last” crap.  

She’s awkwardly staring at me.

Before she can utter a single word, I bolt out of my chair, telling her that I’m suddenly feeling ill and need to use the restroom.

I whip around without looking and bump into our waiter who is bringing us our wine.  It spills all over his pearly, white jacket.

He grabs my arm to break his fall, but we both hit the ground hard, right on our backs too.  

All eyes are on me.

It’s dead, ******* silent. You could hear a mouse ****.

What do I say?  

I can’t just make a dash for the door without saying anything.

My mind is completely frozen, and I lie here, trembling.

Suddenly, my lips begin to part.

The words wiggle their way out of that tiny space between my lips.

“I sorry.”



. . .

.  .  .

.   .   .  

**** me.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2013
If cowboy hats had ear muffs,
maybe they would talk more,
though they would hear less.,
caution tossed to the winds howling.

Not for them
the hairy skins of animals
on their bare hair, too much
respect for their sojourners.

Wooly caps are for sailors,
The ones with cutesy ears
hanging down to the shoulders,
popularized by geeks,
adopted by stylish teenage girls,
well, they would rather be frostbit.

Cowboys,
the silent type,
but never quiet, their thoughts are
their stories, eyewitness accounts,
never told under oath, of the truth
about life and death, in the
Great West.

So, no ***** for them
lest they not hear the
noisy silences, cries of the frigid
Great West.
Dedicated to Mr. Don Bouchard who writes below "I come from cowboy country (Montana), and I have seen this to be true, until the wind and cold drove us all to felt hats with earflaps and hooded sweatshirts. I have frostbite damaged ears and face to prove I know 40 below with wind and cows to feed."



Megan, get a cowgirl hat!
Connor Mar 2016
Old Katherine Kimberly had a sty near her eye
it was a bleeding abhorrent electric
dream spilling out her sanity
the sty was not just any regular sty
it was a satyr placed there by cruel forever
just because
why not

old KATHERINE KIMBERLY had a
mute cousin who came over for tea
when K.K was feeling down, he wanted to be a comedian
but this wouldn't work out for obvious reasons.
old Katherine Kimberly
had a recurring nightmare involving the world around her inverting it's layout, a backwards realm with backwards chairs and backwards backs
everyone looking like they suffered a dramatic accident
spine snapped but still walking
she was the outcast with her even shoulders and
delicate form but there it was that sty by her eye
wouldn't quit not even with sleep.
She went to see a doctor about the nightmares he prescribed a miracle
didn't work
so she went to church
met some wiry bald-spot
evangelic addict figure who
gave her mysterious bagged-and-untagged drugs
(those didn't work either)
nothing would help.. Kimberly came to the conclusion that the sty and the dreams were correlated in some spiritual, cursed sort of way.
Nobody could see it they promised

"No! no! you look fine, everything is in order god knows what you're on about Kim"

but she scratched and scratched for hours in her bedroom and looked in the faded mirror with microscopic detail and sure enough it was/gone??
since when??
she could feel it there, she was no hypochondriac it was alive and feeding off her still
that HORRIBLE THING!
some months now or maybe more it had always weighed her down but now gone
or never there...?
IMPOSSIBLE!
this wasn't over, old Katherine Kimberly would tear this ****** apart on a sub-atomic level and make sure it would never haunt her in any respect from "this day forth!" she said poetically,
wearing a conservatively fashioned dress with green flowers on it
and green grass, too.

She took to the New York subway on a Wednesday, the time was.......2pm
and she was headed to the drycleaners but not the one closest her apartment, the people that ran that one were pushy and irritating.
She was going to "Maude's" she and Maude had lovely conversations about the Gardener who lived one floor up from her who sometimes allowed a small hello from his lips on the way up, off of work.
She liked what he liked
or at least she imagined that to be true
but then again we all do that
it's a bad habit
he could be a total *******, she thought.
Old Katherine Kimberly walked in and opened the backroom there was Maude listening to Brian Eno
(Cindy Tells me/HERE COME THE WARM JETS/1974)

"THE RICH GIRLS ARE WEEPING"

Maude heard K.K come in and swiveled around in her office chair with the one off-kilter wheel which she didn't do a very good job of fixing.
"Well I don't shop at Ikea, its no wonder why, Kat"

"This sty! I know it looks like it's gone, but it isn't, do you still have any of that herbal remedy stuff you told me about earlier?"

"yeah, yeah.. the stuff you refused take way back when?"

"I admit I was being stupid, I just need help, I'm out of options and I'm kind of on a bad trip right now, see? some ghoul at the church gave me these pretty pink pills, said they were from mars and that they could cure anything! O Maude I was desperate and now I'm hallucinating all sorts of wack. I'm afraid I won't come back from this! I dunno what to do Maude! I dunno what to do!"

"Relaxxxx poor doll, you're always getting caught up in messes like this. It's like I said! you gotta settle down with that Rupert, he seems like a genuine guy, real caring, real. I'll help you, I have that herbal medicine in my car I will be right back"

Maude left hastily with a pat on K.K's shoulders as she went
K.K was going cuckoo
she suddenly felt that on a very metaphysical level her atoms were remembering this drug
always
and that when she died, eventually..some innocent child would be reconstituted with her atoms
to live with this for all time
and to be forcefully admitted into a psychiatric ward
pleading for lobotomy!

"What is this? what did I take? does that Kubrick-looking ****** use this often? how is he even tethered to reality?" she was dizzy, good thing she was sitting down..

Maude came back, shaking her head in sympathetic disapproval
"Jeez.. you've gone down the rabbit hole as far as ailment is concerned, that's for sure"

"What do you mean..?" Katherine Kimberly kept her feet grounded to the carpet as to not sway reality to a snowglobe catastrophe.

"Well you say the sty has something to do with the nightmares, or vice-versa, so you took drugs from a complete stranger! only made things worse, I'm sure.. and now you've come to me"

"That's true" K.K agreed
"Why do this to yourself?"
"I've been lost, out of tune, completely washed.."
(((((())))(((((()(((((((((())))(())))))))))()()()))))((­(())))))))))
she was going to continue, but felt like vomiting

She lept from her seat and hunted for a bathroom,
A vicious tabla bleached her brain
with supernatural viscosity
her body played like a cosmic instrument
for a higher being in a higher realm.
Next, the frantic sitar which reminded K.K of July and
the humid balcony marijuana, Ravi Shankar melodically spinning in her living room.
This was a much different experience.. as made clear by her
convulsions
the viper's final dose of venom

"The great spirit lifted his hand without much ado, and split apart Flower Mountain's ten million layers." - from Elder Ting Stands Motionless. (Blue Cliff Record)

"-******* that ******* from the church
why I ever listened to him-
-I feel like I am afloat atop the world able to see the stars as vibrant eyes! but I'm wavering without a sense of gravity. I am at once motionless and spinning!-"

A lot more trouble than it was worth,
O the wisdom of consequence!
K.K, poor doll, lucid consciousness
and an acute awareness for her disposition in this Universe
and all alternate universes for that matter.
(Including the version of her that decided against taking those pink pills from that pink-cheeked man, Stanley Kubrick lookalike ******* probably only posing as a religious man, they never met in one reality, they ****** in another. In one he is god! he is the only god! and in one she is god! anything better than this reality now! her lungs foaming up with death)

GLOBE-O-VOOTY/
GUIDE-O/
ME SOFTLY/
GET THIS THREY-WAY/
OUT FROM MY MIND/
(That's VOUT language for you, there. Slim Gaillard's timeless bop language)

after puking up the rest of her morning meal
she wiped her mouth dry with her sleeve and
reunited w/ Maude who handed K.K that herbal
music
and wished her well

"Look, I know it's none of my bussiness.. but if I were in your shoes, I'd make some changes.. that's all I'm gonna say about THAT"

so Katherine Kimberly went home, she wept
wept about her disposition
about her mistakes
about that inoperable mental sty which was more than a sty
parasitically latched onto her for ages
she wept about how boring people were
how after all this protest and bloodshed
we're just the same as before if not less intellectual!
this fever dream of a day hath made her realize
that she SHOULD make a change.
Hell, Maude was right, sometimes insufferable (tho not as much as others)
She couldn't keep doing this, whatever this was.

The herbal medicine was contained in some cutesy vial
a kind of amber-shade
thick liquid.
Just in the fashion of Lewis Caroll she
drank up her prayer potion, with the sensation that the room was expanding around her, shrunk down to the pathetic dreamer once again,
and so she tried to sleep this desperate sickness off.

One floor up, Rupert thought about whether or not he should *******, he decided to make some coffee instead, continuing where he left off on a new-age book about hypnotism.
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
They shared a mutual hatred for people
that disclosed unsolicited details about their relation*****.

Even though they spoke everyday
goodbyes never got easier.
brb, gonna sleep for eight hours.
What will you dream of?
You want me to say you, and I want me to say you, but I have no control over my dreams. You're only reserved for my daydreams.

They exchanged a plethora of photographs.
#thighhighThursday
Send.
I lIkE yOuR sOcKs.
It wasn't long before they perfected the art of taking selfies in the shower.
Send.
LeT's PlAy NaKeD tWiStEr.

Sometimes they broke the unspoken rules they'd agreed to.
The rules that banned them from getting too cutesy;
or twee as he liked to put it.
Cuddling is just hugging laying down.
For much longer.
*Cuddling is just horizontal hugging for a long time.
ogdiddynash Aug 2014
who will read aloud
my poems
when I'm gone?

that old unfriended thot,
a nagging merry query
was for awhile forgot,
put on the back of an upper shelf,
where dust motes and mites
fear to trend

thoughts,
that I thought
I had dispensed with,
letting time
build illusionary wry walls,
fooling World Trade Center tall

morose forlorn,
pensiveness of
red ant armies,
incapable of
black marker redaction,
there is always one
a lingering malingerer
a sole fado singer,
playing woeful jazz in
the Quarter
on an empty emoty street,
dressed and guised
as the soul of a solitary
cancerous cell
"survivor"

cur overlooked,
biding time,
the surgeons gone,
the drugs flushed,
radiation burning
no more

begins then
the unholy
trilogy cycle

worn out, overused...
invasive categorically relentless
maybes,
what ifs,
then
oh goddamnnotagain

because believed, on knee,
I oathed that
loathed, raven nevermore,
ought
that
cracked door would be open

yet like the
New Orleans levee aged locks
hurricane succumbed
overflowed, overcome,
keyholed, infiltrated,
falllen to the enemy,
mes enfilade,
rumps up the black flag of
surrender

brain sneers
periodically,
like every other
minute, ok,
second,
coyly asking
penny for your
worthless thoughts?

just when you believed
"no mas"
was a prayer that had been heard,
teeth kicked in,
body snatching
hordes and boors
bad boys and ******,
sitting high in the
saddle again,
grinning torturous
tarty smiles
at who,
at you, fool!

you're as alone in that place
as insufficiently as that
impoverished overused
word can ere convey

the nagging realization
that when asking

no one answers

when your thinkings
perish you
your cutesy sweatshirt reads
last standing poet alive,
stabbed ded by awful-truths,
you failed and
all the black cats,
have fled the neighborhood,
just when need was greatest

who will read aloud
my poems when I'm gone,
has been silently answered

by silent applause,
the last theater goer
shuffles out, and turns
and extends his *******
his review leaves a
singular impression,
he looks familiar,
gauntly ghost,
he has accompanied me always
and his finger is his
triumphal parting shot
Quentin Briscoe Sep 2012
I can picture You embeded in my skin...tattooed sin...As I flex you move...a gyrating women...grip closer to me...speep ink into my viens...Send your poison to my brain...make it say your name...stamped by your mission to own me...you control me...grab me by the horns and hold on, bull ride me...and constipate my body so i'll never ******* you...brand me with the emblem of beauty...its your duty, to use me as your mirror on the wall to get cutesy...Im enchanted...when Im branded...fantasized when Im alone..but your embeded in my skin...so we'll always be at home...and the fairest in the land will have a blackend tone...cuz even tho snow is white...it still sparkles when its dark at night...
Jay Wasnothing May 2013
Dear long-lost lover:

Don't be such a pain
I've got plenty to gain

From the way I swing my hips
To the seductive words that pass my lips

People don't say I have a natural charm to be nice
Oh no, I am well aware of how to roll my dice

I am purposely everything you dream of
Of course, I became that after we fell out of love

You wanted a woman who would show her body
So I learned how to do that, without being gaudy

You wanted a woman with a cutesy face
So I learned how to do that, with style, class, and grace

You wanted a woman who would show you no pity
So I learned how to be kind yet heartless, quiet yet witty

Finally, you wanted a woman who would bend to your will
But that was one part of your model woman I didn't want to fill

Because you also wanted a bit of rebellion
So I became your most sought-after little hellion

Oh darling, I remember how you screamed when I turned you down
Oh darling, I remember how you pouted with your idiotic little frown

You couldn't fathom how I didn't want you back
After you broke my heart and made me crack

I became your model girl because I wanted you to suffer
I wanted to show you how you'd only made me tougher

So go ahead and call me anything you please
Because I'll be telling every girl how you only want them on their knees

The truth is simple: I don't care anymore
Go ahead and call me a **** or a *****

  I've accomplished my goal of becoming what you desire
Just so I can watch your burn in your own selfish fire
Copyright 2013
Mitchell Horvath Feb 2012
When I first met you your light changed me,
         this girl bursting with energy
                                                   communing with nature
                                                                                    and bleeding poetry.
I felt alive when talking to you,
                 comparing your serene coolness to my cheap imitation
                                                                                 must have looked foolish,
but it was innocent and lovely.

Right about then you threw up in my room.

Everything I learned about you just sparked more desires.
      I caught myself writing poetry to your praise
                                                  and leaping at you with blinders on to anything that I didn’t care for.
Your smile evolved from what I first felt was charming
                                                                                   into something deadly and seductive.
You gave me chills and left me
      gasping
            for
              air.

We ****** but you hated when I called it that,
      you used cutesy words and danced around all of my advances.

We ran out of small talk questions as time rolled on,
       settling into philosophy
               and debates about how people are alike and different.
We took turns falling into the pessimist role and donning the cloak of the eternal optimist,
         I was always better at the former.
I caught a glimpse of the shadow cast hiding behind your shining light.
            Being that it was a part of you it naturally interested me,
                    and I pressed you for more and more.

You drank yourself unconscious at a party and I held you in my arms.
        I nursed you back to health and we “fricked” for the entire night.
I didn’t even care that you smelled like puke.

We filled in the blanks trading blows of what we considered our darkest secrets.
          Yours always won and they made me see you in a new light,
                   almost as this delicate beauty majestically growing in a dark void.
I understood you better, and I almost wished I didn’t.

“Sure I can bring some over,
                 I’m just glad to see you.
     How have you been?  
          No I don’t have anymore.
                 Yeah I’ll leave.”

I started to hear the same stories;
                     I still laughed at your energy and enthusiasm in telling them.
    I saw you less and less and when I did you seemed different,
              like you were just donning some mask, playing a part just for me
. That’s when I first noticed the split in you.
       The tired lines stretching from your cheeks
                                                              holding up that delicate smile,
               I was determined to erase them.

You still banged me from time to time.
     So like a pilgrim to a holy land I kept showing up
            bringing alcoholic offerings as a sign of good faith.
We never talked about poetry anymore,
       but I didn’t mind.
We hid in your basement and ******* about the world,
             until the beer ran out, or you passed out and I left.

Your eyes hurt me then.
    What I once saw as a mirror like shine filled in,
              and now seemed glassy and shallow.
I started drawing when we hung out to have an excuse not to stare into them anymore.
        Life raged on and it seemed like the waves were slowly eating away the girl I knew.

I realized that I was your fix.
       When I called you on it you laughed and seemed surprised it took me this long to get it,
I didn’t stop coming,
    it actually felt good to get rid of the pretense,
           it was like a show, watching you drink away your soul.
Some friend I am. At least I wasn’t a drunk I told myself.

As your life spiraled downwards from your addiction it brought you to a lot of painful places.
        Places with bars and handcuffs,
                  places with straps,
                         places with tubes connecting your tiny frame to big machines.
I wasn’t there to see you in those places, I couldn’t.

I started yelling at you,
       trying to wake you up from the slumber you seemed content to stumble around in. 
 I lectured you and watched as you let it flow right past.
          I called you on your lies and refused to be your delivery service.
I hoped it wasn’t too late.

I want to see that girl who bleeds poetry again,*

And I’ll wear my best suit to your grave.
I'm terrible at spelling and grammar but am always happy to get opinions.
the world is a dryer.


if there is a washing machine section within our universe, I am unaware of it.

I don't work that rotation. I work the dry shift.

tumble low heat, fluff, repeat.

repeat.

in almost every dryer known to mankind, some contraption serves as the lint trap. collect all of the lint and excess laundry fluff as it goes through the dry cycle.

in this world, in this universe; if the human race consists of the articles of clothing in the dryer, I am the lint trap.

it sounds almost cutesy when phrased like that. dryer lint is fluffy and soft and the combination of all the different fibers of the various clothing.

I'm the trap, though. the filter.

I must absorb and filter the excess fiber from every article of clothing. if the entire human race is in this dry cycle; I absorb and filter their raveling ends.

it's ******* exhausting.



here's a better analogy. have you ever had your stomach pumped?

they handle this differently now, but when the doctors, nurses, and staff working in the ER would get a patient who swallowed an entire bottle of ****** with a ***** chaser; or a new mother's young son swallowing her bottle of sertaline, they would get to work. one hand activated charcoal, the other hand with a large suction tube.

activated charcoal is what neutralizes the bottle of ****** or the bottle of Zoloft. the charcoal can absorb **** near anything. it pulls out stains and poisons, neutralizing and absorbing.

this is where the tube comes in. the charcoal is harmless on its own, but the ER staff is in a hurry to console (get rid of) the screaming mother; to move the seventeen year old girl with the ****** ***** chaser to the psychiatric unit, and continue their night.

insert the long tube to suction the charcoal out of the stomachs of the two children. this is often haphazardly shoved down the back of the throat, down the esophagus, reaching the stomach. flip the switch, undo what peristalsis cannot. it's not pleasant. gagging, rough, foul, I've been told.

the body is working in reverse order. vomiting may be easier. the suction tube is fighting the natural flow of the body. the esophagus is attempting to push everything down down down, and the tube is fighting back.

I am the activated charcoal found in every ER across the globe. I absorb the poisons that human beings put into​ their bodies.

I can pass someone on the street, and my activated charcoal soul absorbs the negativity, the poison, the hatred, the emotional chaos from that individual.

I often wonder if the person feels lighter, noting the absence of the venom that once crippled them. I never ask. I just keep my gaze down and ignore the tempest ensnared within my activated charcoal lint trap.

there are others like me. activated charcoal hearts, lint trap souls.
an ode to activated charcoal hearts and lint trap souls.

February​ 8th 2017
Nina Sousa Oct 2013
I laid there thinking of you
Dreaming of you
To only open my eyes and see that it was you
Breathing on my neck
In order for me to breathe you in
Taste your sweetness from the inside
Your innermost feelings penetrated my skin,
Through your breath.
And the way the sun looked behind your head
Shining, gleaming, like steam from a ***
Oh yes, you still make me sweat.
And your sweat mixed with mine is like every great love potion combined
Concocting sweet memories and love sick tendencies
Making me want you,
To tell me how you love me.
And the way your hands fit over mine, like perfect stencils of art made
because even then our bodies together make the most beautiful shapes
and not in the dirtiest of ways, but rather the innocent
the way we cuddle, hug  and love its simply
amazing
the way you trace the hairs on my head, the hairs on my neck the hairs on my arms all the way down the nonexistent hairs on my leg, only for you so that the ride down is smooth
smooth like your words that flow through my ears and tickle my nerves in every neuronal-space
that transmit through every fiber of my body and speak to every muscle telling me to tense
when I hear you whisper, “chill”.
And every time your fingertips imprint themselves on my skin
I know that those will forever be mine, for those fingertips are forever yours on me
On me I find your scent, your sweat, your fingerprints, your love
Is all around me, I can feel it when you align your cheeks with mine.
The way you rub your stubble filled chin through each dip and dent of my chin neck and chest.
The way your breaths somehow coincide with mine.
We are one and I realize the moment that I open my eyes
It’s not some dream my child-like, little girl, cutesy self is making
But those are your eyes I look into with the sun shining down
And your arms that hold me tight
And your breath that I long to feel at night.

— The End —