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Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
****!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to penetrate your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful elongated face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
pops,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please  us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
Yenson Oct 2018
Criminal Gang Stalking

Definition:

The crimes committed through gang stalking an individual are covertly done, hence little in evidence is left behind of the crime, and the target is left with little in the way of resources to defend him or herself.

Isolation, through disrupting socio-familial ties in an intense slander campaign, is usually achieved once the actual stalking begins.

A pervasive slandering campaign takes place, projecting the target as an unstable individual, child molester, a person with hidden dark secrets, or a person prone to psychopathic behavior.

The criminals planning a gang stalking endeavor study the target long before the stalking begins. Psychological profiling is done, and this is to assist in the overall campaign that includes intense psychological harassments and demoralizations. Tactics used go well beyond fear, demoralization and psychological harassment.

The tactics used have been the protocol in campaigns against common people implemented by the KGB in Soviet Russia, Nazis of **** Germany, and the KKK in the early to middle of last century in America.

The accumulation of all the tactics and events in this dangerously hurtful organized crime against an innocent human being can led to trauma and will emotionally bankrupt the targeted individual, and may lead to death, as suicide is often induced through the assaults. The perpetrators of gang stalking are serious criminals who do great damage, and the acts done are very serious crimes by any measure.

Gang Stalking is a highly criminal campaign, one directed at a target individual, and one that aims to destroy an innocent person’s life through covert harassments, malicious slander and carefully crafted and executed psychological assaults.

Gang Stalking deprives the targeted individual of their basic constitutional rights and destroys their freedom, setting a stage for the destruction of a person, socially, mental and physical, through a ceaseless assault that pervades all areas of a person’s life.

What drives such campaigns may be revenge for whistle blowing, or for highly critical individuals, as outspoken people have become targets. Other reasons why a person may become a target individual for stalking: ex-spouse revenge, criminal hate campaigns, politics, and racism.

Gang Stalking may be part of a larger phenomena that may have loose threads that extent into a number of differing entities, such as government, military, and large corporations, though it is certain that organized crime is one of gang’s stalking primary sources, or origins.

The goals of Gang Stalking are many. To cause the target to appear unstable mentally is one, and this is achieved through a carefully detailed assault using advanced psychological harassment techniques, and a variety of other tactics that are the usual protocol for gang stalking, such as street theater, mobbing, pervasive petty disrespecting.

Targets experience the following :

A total invasion of privacy
Pervasive and horrific slander
Isolation through alienation that is caused by the slander. 4.Destruction of, or alienation from all things that the target holds dear.
Ground Work: A discrediting campaign is initiated long before the target is actually stalked. They, the criminal perpetrators, twist and fabricate reality through such a campaign, displaying lies that paint the target as a child molester, a person with hidden dark secrets, an highly unstable individual who may be a threat to society, a *******, or a longtime drug user, etc.

The slandering or discrediting campaign sets the stage for the target to become alienated in just about every social-familial- work environment, once the actual stalking begins. This slandering campaign is instrumental in eliminating all resource and avenue of defense for the target, before the actual stalking begins.

This stage is one that sees people close to the target, family, friends, neighbors, and co-workers recruited by the perpetrator criminals, who will pose as law enforcement officials, private investigators, or a groups of concerned citizens.

The Gang Stalking is aimed at achieving one or all of the follow:

induced suicide
financial devastation
homelessness
institutionalization in psyche wards
Once actual Stalking begins: The target will endure a vast array of tactics: gas lighting, street theater, drugging, gassings, scent harassment, mobbing, subtle but frequent destruction of property, killing of pets

Psychological profiling will be done so as to initiate an intense psychological harassment assault. Staged happenings and planned or directed conversations will take place around the target in public or places of work, and serves not only to undermine the targets psychology, but also may be used to cause the target to thinking that he or she is under investigation for horrific crimes.

Stalkers will have studied the target to such a level that they know and can predict the person’s behavior. Again, often the target will think that they are being investigated for crimes that would be absurd for the target to have actually committed. Not knowing what actually is happening, the target is isolated and lives through a never ending living nightmare.

Once the target finds out that they are a target individual for gang stalking, or multi stalking, they may have some relief, but from what I have read, the stalking simply changes dimensions a bit, and continues.

Identifying the exact people who initiated gang stalking campaigns is difficult, or near impossible, and this makes it very difficult for people researching this phenomena to discover, in certainty, the roots and genealogy of the crime. Investigation of a “Gang Stalking” crime would require a great deal of resources, and intensity similar to ****** investigations.
WHAT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW....THIS IS THE TRUTH.

Background information, please read 'Where Is Justice' by same author on this site.
This horrendous situation is happening in our Great civilised Nation,
oh me oh my Apr 2013
he tells me the
words she does
not care to read,
nor understand.

his words
are narcotics,
rolling thick
off the tongue,
fat and vain.

i tell him the
words she does
not care to read
nor understand.

my words
are flesh wounds,
festering and
upsetting
to the stomach.

he's a medical
overdose,
drugging
to numb the
brash and pain.

i'm an angry
hornet through
your heart
and your mind,
livid and
vindictively
stricken.

thick through
your veins,
eyes a blur
and head a fog,
he's a medical
overdose
with mind of
a syringe
and tongue
laced with
narcotics.
in my family conversation is seldom thoughtful questioning filled with wonder quiet pauses instead it is sociable banter teasing goading spontaneous gratuitous remarks clever embellishment excessive flattery it is an ancient system passed down patronage pecking order nepotism sycophancy near to impossible for me to be honest in presence of their overwhelming vanity when it comes to family gatherings my voice isn’t very strong my family’s joking squelches my chirp they are each and all more loud sarcastic faster wittier more crude outrageous more funny loud gregarious sanguine Mom embarrasses herself with uncalled for flirtations (her mental state rapidly deteriorating) everyone laughs boisterously they snap kid exaggerate amplify taunt i can hardly get word in i need to repeat myself several times or more to be heard my voice is minor i struggle to tell story they listen politely then rush back into their rowdy repartee i am way too sincere way too naked in my ineptitude my stomach ties in knots biting lip shivering from cold fear what’s going to happen pitch black in front of me voice inside screams please i need help so bad please make it easier i’m lost in all this commotion drama hunger lack of clarity

Chicago 1980 Odysseus always revered cousin Chris is taller tan-skinned handsomer stronger protective of Odysseus knowing he is frivolous liability tags along with Chris and his prosperous trader friends advantaged echelon inherited wealth educated white young men they float above everyone else their tastes in clothes furnishings run Brooks Brothers Burberry Giorgio Armani Ralph Lauren John-Paul Gautier Paul Smith Emile Zegna Salvatore Ferragamo their preference in women run typically blonde large ******* tight butts make-up painted nails they think Odysseus is a freak because he usually chooses females none of them want Odysseus likes skinny girls flat chests glasses he knows he is an extraneous art pet to Chris and his group

Chris joins newly built state of art fitness facility pricey membership accesses all of Chicago’s fast track shakers movers politicians lawyers pretty people Odysseus has his limits he does not have money to join also he dislikes snooty elitism several times Chris invites Odysseus as guest Odysseus feels insecure outsider Chris always includes Odysseus pays for dinners they begin with round of doubles then 2nd round of doubles before glancing at menu Chris drinks Canadian Club on the rocks Odysseus follows they raucously order extravagant meals with appetizers 3rd 4th 5th rounds of doubles after pricey dinner at chic restaurant Chris’s group rendezvous at bar or club they order round of drinks tip lavishly sip drink glare around room leave barely touched drinks walk out with look of disdain they scavenge more bars in search of females or some intangible attraction Odysseus is never certain what they are looking for or what is the source of their contempt each wears black leather jacket carries huge wads of cash $20s $50s $100s folded stuffed in front pockets no wallets or clips

the Red Meat palace or Chang’s Szechwan grill are their favorite restaurants as many as 8 men sit at table pack mentality prevails for dessert course they pull out small brown bottles filled with ******* if it is Friday night Chris’s pad is frequently elected females other arrangements settle bill depart restaurant one night Odysseus arrives early at Chang’s wanders downstairs into women’s boutique salesgirl named Fiona greets him they hit it off he invites her to join him and his hosts upstairs after her shift is done Fiona arrives as dessert is about to be served table of men look desirously at Fiona beams Odysseus and Fiona along with Chris Phil Tom go to Odysseus’s place Fiona is perhaps 22 petite lovely with deep blue eyes set wide apart long eyelashes brown thick hair cut to shoulders high ******* pink ******* fragrance of linden flowers delighted by male attention Fiona ***** fondles each men are quite intoxicated Odysseus and Phil are only capable to sustain erections Odysseus stares mesmerized at Fiona’s extraordinarily swollen ***** she notices his fixation grins blushing men shout commands but in actuality Fiona is in charge reducing each of them to little boys vying for her attention near conclusion she requests they form circle around her ******* on her chest she fondles them touches herself men laugh mockingly as if to compensate for their lack of performance Tom picks up plastic dart gun aims it at Fiona she laughs crawls on all fours Tom fires dart hitting her on **** Phil grabs gun from Tom reloads another dart suddenly it feels like fraternity stunt Odysseus goes along offended by his own complicity to him episode feels more like men having *** with each other than being with a woman telephone rings it is Odysseus’s latest love pursuit she tells him she is on her way over everyone rushes to put on clothes change bed sheets they depart within minutes she arrives finally ready after weeks of romancing to put out for him after that night when Chris and Odysseus get buzzed in bar Chris routinely speaks the line to women have you ever been done by 2 cousins one night at Green River tavern woman squeezes milk from her ****** into shot glass dares cousins to drink Chris laughing turns down her offer Odysseus shoots back shot of milk then takes swig of Irish whiskey cousins go see Billy Idol at Odysseus’s insistence they stand near front stage young girls screaming after show driving home in Chris’s Fiat Spider Chris complains his ears are ringing i don’t know how i’ll be able to work tomorrow Odysseus nods like he hears hollers out window hey little sister shotgun!

Mom and Dad want their son to enjoy fruits of burgeoning affluence they feel certain what they are doing is best for him they rent quarter seat at Chicago Mercantile Exchange they originally promised full seat but they are overextended Odysseus enrolls in trading course he learns to trade Certificates of Deposit and Eurodollars which are recently established markets suddenly Odysseus has lots of cash his parents are dishing out he does not know what he is doing newly launched markets lack investment and fleece young men of their parent’s money his friends surroundings change he loses sight of himself he is a thoroughly incompetent trader bleeding cash scatters money between harebrained panicked trades or ******* girls $1000. wristwatch when Mom and Dad see jewelry they become furious in a way he represents his parent’s design for how to build successful son yet their plan is going dreadfully wrong he wants to stand up speak out against Dad and Mom he is not courageous enough to counter their weight he wants to express with more assurance his passion to pursue painting and writing isn’t fact he graduated from art school evidence enough of his aspirations commodities exchange is last place in the world he belongs Odysseus is risk taker but he is not aggressive or entrepreneurial only lesson he has learned with respect to his parents is how to run away

by all appearances cousin Chris is brilliant trader in reality Chris is hooked up with powerful crooked brokers they use him as their bagman he covers losing trades and is compensated or offsets winning side of profitable trades subsequently dealt his share Chris is not a criminal he stumbles into profit-making situation when certain conditions are flexible to advantages Chris is diligent hard worker the vast sums of money he earns do not distort his personality he is always generous shielding of Odysseus gold trading pit becomes so shady S.E.C. intervenes relinquishing exchange’s contract Chris and his bosses walk away unscathed having made their bundles

Mom and Aunt Rita run social itinerary for family including birthdays holidays all other gatherings where family will meet changes by the minute depending on Mom and Aunt Rita’s caprice checking in by telephone at least an hour before is mandatory arriving at destination Mom and Aunt Rita insist on specific table location seating arrangement it is important they be seen viewed by others at restaurant they never sit near kitchen or washrooms or where there is too much noise light away from drafts who sits next to who is crucial round tables are their favorite preferring backs to wall looking out so they can nod wave Mom rules from proud pedestal Dad upholds chain of command sometimes he irritably gripes Aunt Rita immediately comes to Mom’s defense Dad points finger back off Rita you’re way out of line where do you come up with a remark like that Mom mediates Max that’s enough in a way the sisters are spoiled little girls over-indulged by their father they believe their opinions and tastes are the best most correct everyone in family are subordinate to their no and don’t Mom and Aunt Rita routinely criticize Odysseus’s semantics oppose his observations critical of his clothes conduct they handily misconstrue his comments to mean fodder for their amusement Mom and Aunt Rita’s efforts to keep prim proper decorum cause resentment Odysseus feels constricted by his subservient role in drama of family he fails to understand their care

Odysseus busts out of markets leaving behind alarming debts for family to pay off he feels humiliation disgrace plunges into bottomless sleepless despair hides in house door locked window shutters shut phone rings unanswered hates life willfully wants to destroy himself there is no way out after week Chris comes by to see if he is all right Odysseus is reluctant to let Chris in Chris commands be a man get a grip on yourself Odysseus replies maybe i’m not a man he feels failure shame realizes he has become traitor to himself he wants to look at existence head on embrace it but all he knows are dishonor regret deception he conceives his being has been stolen he wants his life back but knows not how to recover it he feels deep in obligation to Mom and Dad thinks to escape from Chicago but his parent’s control is crushing he wakes late drinks black coffee smokes cigarettes marijuana hangs out alone sky changes from light to dark to light phone rings he reads Nietzsche Sartre frequents ***** Hole punk rock dive several blocks from residence becomes orphan of night drinking drugging

January 5 2011 30 years have passed Chris marries fathers son becomes best father to his child he can be leaves markets in late 80’s Dad dies in ’91 Odysseus leaves Chicago in 1994 he manages to paint some paintings write some words stomach ties in knots biting lip shivering from cold fear what’s going to happen ***** pink gray skies behind pitch black in front sometimes you need to take a step back in order to move forward Mom says she worried enough about money when she was younger and isn’t going to worry about it anymore her entire life she boasted i’m saving for my children but in the end she saved solely for herself Odysseus never learned to stand on his own all he ever wanted is to love and be loved he wonders what will happen next
Bergen Franklin May 2015
The more I hear the more I’m disgusted,
by the fact that I have any relation to these.....
Crude creatures;
classless;
shameless beasts with no insight, or self reflection; no clue what they want; why they hurt; refusing to question;
refusing to even admit there's a problem to begin with.

Drugging themselves with god knows what.
Drowning themselves in that fondly and excessively drank poison,
we all love our al-co-hol,
but not our livers,
nor our lovers;
it seems.

why?

such things only numb the pain
pain one could avoid simply by confronting it;
addressing the problem,
and dealing with it.

so what use is simply numbing pain;

again why?

the hour you go without a visit from mistress jane
the minute your foul intoxicating stream(river?) runs out;
the second your angel stops giving you her dust to snort from her bust;
the millisecond you lose the trail of the golden dragon

it has you by the throat
pain.
memories.
guilt.
shame.
humiliation.
pain.
memories.­
guilt.
shame.
humiliation.
{viscous cycle is it not?}
the sick little game is over.
the hiding is over.
guess what!
life has found you-
and it always will.

morphine, *** and *****
crack, acid and shrooms
lovely playing pieces
lovely game
but in the end, it will end
all games end someday.
Nandini Jul 2014
Your heart brought with Amnesia.
To study it ,
I slid into your heart ,
making way through your tears
it was dark.
Placing a candle at the grave of your sorrows,
I stitched up your battered ,bleeding heart.
Tendering to the grave turned gardens,
I smuggled sunlight to your dandelion soul.
Drugging you 3 times daily with comfort,
was what I prescribed.
Nothing stays forever , so didn't your illness
and you don't remember me any-longer.
Happy laughter of love echoed ,
in the skies of your fist sized heart.
Wished you a healthy heart ahead,
only with the desire to treat it again .
Alyssa Underwood Jun 2016
you came bearing words
a transparent heart
                      you said
bombs of love
exploding my defenses
gifts i embraced until
                      you drifted
memories flooded in
of betrayals past
i'd been there before
drugging narcissus
                      you played
further on my resonant soul
strummed to fine pitch
your favorite guitar
till bored with the tune
                      you cut
all the strings
i adjusted to silence
relished my gains, but then
                      you returned
to play me some more
and that's why
                      you see


i've bolted this door
"Forgiveness involves a heart that cancels the debt but does not lend new money until repentance occurs."  
~ Dan Allender, 'Bold Love'
Larissa Lou McCasky is hurting relapses needs Clyde Eli Moskowitz to stay at her side and more than anything he wants to help her through this difficult time yet there is nothing he can do but watch his most precious angel be devoured in her own flames at first it is drinking he can not keep up with her she drinks until she feels oblivion next drugging she goes back to old destructive ways she practiced after divorce 15 years ago Clyde will not go there with her Larissa stops writing reading her sewing machine sits dormant hairs around her ******* grow long she makes demands he is not capable of giving Clyde is *** addict he reads to Larissa from Yukio Mishima’s Madame de Sade “the more exalted the man the more refined his pleasures” Larissa learns from Clyde then she insists on more goes beyond him buffalo meat is tough Clyde shows her how to cook it with water little lime juice Larissa repudiates his coaching she prefers to chew the meat tough sometimes she hears war drums beating in her heart Clyde owns 3 guns in his house 2 pistols and a shotgun he keeps them hidden from Larissa

2

spirit dog is dog that stays long after dog dies sometimes spirit dog needs to be fed or water left out in case spirit dog is thirsty spirit dog makes you question did you do enough when dog was alive spirit dog dogs you with faint sounds in house dogs you in dreams in bed at night dogs you when you look in face of other dogs spirit dog does not ever leave your side

3

the artist is will always be at odds with him/herself society the system when his/her work becomes viable commercially it becomes corporatized part of the system imagine Nine Inch Nails song Closer lyric “i want to ******* like an animal” becoming elevator music

4

concerning creation establish location characters then sit back let imagination go wild take your time think it through the weirder the better there are no mistakes just pure improvisation

5

what power did her dog Sweeny sanction within Larissa that Clyde could not fulfill? was it Sweeny’s absolute dependency that brought out her nurturing instinct? Clyde needs Larissa yet wants her more than he needs her when spirit dog inside Larissa gets hungry she indulges him

6

Larissa takes to the streets and that’s where real damage commences slow at first old man with worn out $20 bill then young punk who shoves her out penniless with mouthful of *** then biker dude gives her lift unto back of Harley rides her back to clubhouse feeds her rohypnol 13 men pull a train stub out lit cigarette butts on her face and ******* then crack 2 front teeth shoving shotgun down her throat another up her *** and take bets on where the shots will meet they decide instead to leave her naked with no water in the desert Mexicans sneaking across border rescue her escort her to Tucson she finds her way to Clyde’s house begging he stands in doorway sees missing teeth scars on cheeks chin above left eye damage beyond his understanding how to fix feels both fear and tears welling up lies to her tells her he has new girlfriend she knows he’s lying wanders off gets arrested for vagrancy then disorderly conduct then prostitution

7

every author faces the dilemma of how to fix what they have broken if the work is to be original then it must break from convention

8

Larissa Lou McCasky has an epiphany in Pima County jail when she gets out she will find a job sewing or writing or proof-reading maybe all 3 then she will find a dog and after she is settled Larissa will look up Clyde Eli Moskowitz and try her best to win him back and regain paradise lost yet knowing it is unlikely she will gratefully accept whatever comes her way and remember to honor respect spirit dog and vigilantly at times keep him on leash

9

Larissa keeps promise to herself she and Clyde meet at Sky bar it is 3 years since their first meeting she has more gray hair than he her teeth are patched up

LARISSA i’ve missed you Clyde and thought about us a lot

CLYDE i’ve missed you too Larissa you look lovely like good things are happening around you i forgot how beautiful you are

LARISSA chill on the flattery Clyde i’ve found a new dog and named it Eli after you he’s ******* outside see him

CLYDE wow that’s your Catahoula hound that licked my hand on the way in wow where did you find him

LARISSA animal rescue hey Clyde if you don’t mind i’ll just cut to the chase you know i want to come home with you

CLYDE slow down girl one step at a time let’s order some drinks and talk and yes i would love getting back with you

BARTENDER may i help you

LARISSA yes i’d like a Shirley Temple and my friend here can have whatever he wants my treat

CLYDE guess i’ll have what the lady is having

LARISSA you quit drinking too

CLYDE yup starting now with you

LARISSA i love you Clyde i really truly do
Danielle Shorr Nov 2014
I am trying to forget you

Really,
I am

I have been drugging my memory
Repeatedly
Every night
Drinking from bottles
Filled with liquid strong enough
For me to untaste you
I still do

It's funny how
Nobody mentions touch
As the most important sense
Associated with memory
I still feel you everywhere

Your hands on my skin
I am trying to erase them
Your fingerprints must be
Permanent ink
They are no longer visible
But I can still see them

I tie my tongue in knots
So that when I choke
On words
It will be on my own terms
I still cough up yours

I am trying to forget you
The way your voice sounded in my ear
Breathless and humming
I can still hear the ringing

You are the melody
I cannot get out of my head
The music that I cannot stop singing

I am trying to erase
The parts of you drawn onto me

I have gotten four tattoos
In the past three months
And two of them remind me of you

I am trying to forget you
But I purposely don't try
Hard enough

If I really wanted to
I would destroy the proclamations of passion
I once wrote to you

If I really wanted to
I would delete the pictures sent back and forth
Like ransom letters
Thinking my body could force you
To surrender your heart

I used to consider swearing
To be a holy thing
You swore on so much
That it is no longer sacred

Humans are incapable of certainty
I have bent my pinky fingers in half
Just to come close
To believing promises
But people
Always let you down
And disappointment
Is inevitable

Your salt lips
And iodine mouth
Left a burning sensation
From every cut that you made
In mine

I am trying to forget you
And the way you said my name
How you only said it
Quietly through phone calls
Directly into my ear
As if you didn’t want anyone else
To hear you say it aloud

I am trying to forget you
But it is not easy
The moving on
Is a crossword puzzle
I do not know the last answer to
There are fifteen spaces left
That I don't know how to
Fill
With anything other than you
There is so much empty
Left over

It is much easier to hold on
To memories
And remnants
Of what could’ve been
Than it is to accept
A definite ending

Our future
May be dead
But you are still
Very much alive in me

If I really tried
I bet I could forget you
But I don't think I want to.
Julian Dorothea Sep 2012
Let me be the Bonnie to your Hyde
I can be the Z to your Scotty
Let's, let's ruin each other baby
Arms and fingers locked
Drugging the other down
We're two gnarled bodies, writhing on the ground

No morphine needed
We're both about the pain
Inhaling you fast
You're my line of pixie dust
I fly to fall down
Faith? Hope? I just need to suffer now.

You're the apple tree splinter
Poking my eye so I can't see.
The mirror on your door is me
And the fairest is anyone but you.
I'm your painting mr. Gray
Hide me in the attic; can't throw me away

Let's, let's ruin each other baby
Oh wait we already did or do.
These brass scales are getting heavy,
It's me for you

And do you hear that sound?
It's our siren lullaby.
We crash into each others'arms
Tied to each others' masts;
Drugging each other down
There's the frog and the water-sound.

We're one, we're done, well that was fun.
Once again..not a poem. Lyrics lyrics..for no apparent reason. Anyone care to add a tune?
Brian Hoffman Oct 2023
I know sometimes I’m a little obsessive
Some might call it bipolar depressive
Random mood swings causing me to become manic obsessive
Shifts in energy changes making me become impulsively energetic
Got my mind spinning around causing me a psychotic racing catatonic lack of awareness
So used to being told to calm down by my family and old therapist’s
Now I’m just living and learning off of my own failures and life lessons
Creating my own values and building towards a better impending prospective future with all these thoughts, ideas, different reasons and reactions
Moments of self worth can often start to feel fleeting due to daily life experiences and my own expressions
Followed by changes in feelings and mixed emotional ambivalence
Rarely opening up to people because, I feel vulnerable and misunderstood constantly stressing
But the few times I do is when something about them resonates with me making me feel calm, safe and accepted
I believe it’s because of my past trauma, I have to try everyday to be a soul survivor
Old coping mechanisms through past risky behaviors shattered recking havoc
Drugging and drinking to drown out these demons
In the depths of despair, my inner demon finds solace, a dangerous comfort I must avoid
Getting back up on my own two feet going to meetings after meeting
Late insomniac nights with thoughts never fully slowing down
Followed once again the next day I can’t seem to drown out all of the sounds
All these troubled thoughts restless I am
A soul survivor I fight, but I often find it hard to stand
Picking myself back up
I’m just a man searching for a way to feel human again
Bipolar, insomnia, anxiety, pain, depression and past trauma
Karijinbba Jun 2023
Dearest jewels of my crown motherhood
Go to the nearest FBI office
Accuse all you call friends of a hate crime drugging you without you knowing to make you feel **** and think you are nuts hallucinogens and methamphetamine s do that
Do not go to psychiatrist they will trash you
your Mom and remove your parental rights forever a Susan and Arthur and Elizabeth already bought you from Haralsmbios a human trafficking psychopath sadist torturer like kiriaki and many more in Greece
Those you trust here in USA hide Crimes they are a team of murderers and thieves since 1980
They assimilated Jeff and John through drugs
Free yourselves.

They all are your deadly enemies they document all lies half truths use assassination of character and fear of your Mom to hide their crimes

They are who lie divide you and plan to ****** your Mom too for financial gain.
They made credit cards with your name in it to finance murders for hire ..
And tell you it's Mom buying thousands of dollars in clothes that's a lie from Satan
They are black mailing you.
to extort money to **** Mom.
~~
Remove your blind folds fight for your freedom take your children run to FBI office use me as a living witness I am on your side.
I love you all my children.
~~
~My Story poem.~
The greatest deception is calling everyone
a friend
Today I admit that from ancient times
am blessed to have had his intimate
piece of heart
thus my life was worth while.
I declare that even here
I was blessed with this
Outer Limits De-Javus;
~~
I am forever a grateful Mom,
granted to sacrifice my
love, my life along with everyone
I ever loved the most.

There's still justice to be granted; triumph waived
with defeat acknowledged.
Not only have I waived and yielded to every misfortune
but was trashed to the eleven winds as my evil enemy
lied to divide me among my dearly beloved offspring
planning as in above the law to profit from my demise.
~~~
By: Karijinbba
All Rights Reserved.
https://youtu.be/fWvkOb8rVLg
~~~
Dedicated to the Jewels
of my crown motherhood-ERJ
My beloved surviving children.
And the love of my life
ratoncito blanco at Janehiltonmay.

Dedicated to my best friend best lFATHERover best husband best
Emoni Jenkins Sep 2013
The vibration
The pacing
The loving
The hating
The spending
Never ending
The thoughts they keep racing
The drinking
The drugging
The 5am clubbing
The meaningless sexing
The endless regretting
The lying
The cheating
The I hate this feeling
The panic
No sleeping
Anxiety streaming
The shaking
The fright
The continuous night
The struggle with words
I just want to be heard
The thoughts they're racing
The thoughts they're racing
The thoughts they're racing
Paranoia
Hallucinations
It's been weeks since I've slept
The walls seem to be screaming from the secrets they've kept
I'm over the edge
I've lost all control
This madness is driving me off of the road
But maybe down there I'll find some peace
All I really wanted
Was to go to sleep
the one positive aspect concerning Tucson’s blistering heat is what women wear on display are details one would never notice or think about if it were not right there in plain view an evident preference based solely on sweltering circumstance is no brassieres yet vogue goes beyond this lovable lapse women being fashion mindful arrange interesting medleys of flimsy diaphanous chemises various lengths of shorts thin-threaded summer dresses peculiar styles of tresses and fairly informal shoes or barefoot in essence everything about women’s wear in Tucson is noticeably informal revealing to the eye the barest facts that said there are those who fall under the dictate of Latin or Goth influences regardless how scorching the sun black is their uniform and finally the no matter what season or time of day hooded sweatshirt set and their hoodlum world

2

nightlife in Tucson is dull for a big city ex-resident several Friday evenings a month he visits plush bar arriving about 6 PM sitting at bar sipping 2 sometimes 3 drinks chatting with whomever then walking home about 7:30 - 8 and that is his rather sedate social life but on this particular Friday night with full moon 2 days away and Venus in his thoughts he thinks to go to sky bar outside monsoon rains are letting up opaque gray sky fragrance of creosote in air he looks at reflection in mirror feels deep depression

3

they are supposed to meet meant to meet destined fated to meet but they will not meet because there is a season for love in a person’s life but that time is gone it is too late for him too many hearts racing then erased lies deceptions disappointments nights alone under-appreciated without love so many years too much bridge under the water concerning her she is emotionally occupied her dog Sweeny on last legs a drawn-out too personal sadness to share besides she is not looking for an older man possibly a younger man who can ease her fears of loss and aging

4

the drainage system in Tucson is not well thought out when it rains it floods she wears Chaco sandals wading through puddles feeling intoxicated by scent of creosote after divorce 20 years ago she became drunken drugging **** until she adopted Sweeny changed her life it is like she is feeling relapse knowing Sweeny will be gone soon she cannot bear the thought decides to start at the Buffet total losers bar then work her way north up 4th Avenue a lot of ground to cover

5

an older man with loud gravelly voice and pink eye introduces himself as Frank says he moved here 25 years ago from New Jersey accent still intact orders ***** martini pulls out 6” KA-BAR military knife throatily grumbles i manage she decides she’s had enough of the Buffet does not finish drink decides to skip the Shanty Maloney’s O’Malley’s glances in the windows of Che”s sees gossipy **** she does not want to run into crosses 4th Avenue looks in the window at Plush sees self-important **** she does not want to run into crosses 4th Avenue again settling for seat at Sky bar

6

he gazes at her and his heart melts she is so lovely in subtle alternative demeanor it would be easy to admire her for rest of his life if he were female he’d want to look just like her but he sees she is not interested in him he looks away remembers the first step when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he turns his gaze away

7

she glances around large room notices him smiling at her eyes glance passed him she thinks he looks remotely familiar but the mustache appears ridiculously out of style too much character in his face he appears small maybe 5’8” or 9” probably drives a mini-***** just not her type whatever then she remembers the first step when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power
coffeemantra Dec 2013
I've forgiven myself for these nights of endless sleep
Till the sunrise and the moon showed size
I was sad.
I've forgiven myself from excluding of humanity, starving myself, drinking alone, and drugging my soul
From talking to God in that violent tone
These days of depression, oppression and disgrace
You would try to hold me but empty I was
Made me coffee every morning
Held me tight while I panicked, always keeping yourself cool
Writing is how we communicated, reading how I excluded myself
This summer I read so many books
I don't even know how the world looks anymore
My God is gone
My skin is white
My chest in pain
And you, right there
I'm sorry I didn't let you embrace me, I needed to myself
"We are in this together"
I'm sorry, I forgot.
Jasmine Reid Oct 2018
Swallowing pills
                            again
                         ­              &
                                           again
Trying my best to get high again on the feeling, drugging myself up to remember the feeling of your lips, your warm touch, and inhale your deodorant, that succulent scent.

I want to be sleepless, and think in the night. And be happy, or sad, either one works
But I guess I just want to remember I’m alive

Happy,
             Sad,
                     Nostalgia that drains me, happy memories turning into sour nightly thoughts.

I think of the dark night sky, and I thought there was once stars in your eyes, yes, maybe.

You made me higher than I’d ever been, and I miss you my dear dear happy pill
Druggo right here, am I right?
Your lifeline is going flat ✓\✓_viscious enemies
as I pull the plug of your nasty predatorial existence **** be the day your great grandparents were born.
✓✓\✓\✓______

Henry Robert Welonek you two timing ***** impotent ***** donor fool
your sterile butcher jealous Spectre nurse attacking anesthesized mother; cutting her mother injecting her brain with high long gage needles
kept for years to re-attack out of jealousy- ✓\✓__ugly stetile gorillas who spawned you!
You too Lizzz Welonek
your Arthur- Susan Raitano
trashing scapegoating lala sassy cocos mother drugging her grown kids pregnant with hallucinogens and metamphetamins!
assimilating my girls to butcher their intellect, heroic heart of gold
and unbelievable beauty.
May your heart stop beating now
✓\✓\✓\✓_
and go hell go.

Charalambos Mantalozis gaiduri
( dunky) ***** snake
cold in grave glad you don't breath:
baby torturer mfkr murderer .
your Kiriaki Madalozis 4 jealous baby poisoners envious shadow people
greedy Greek demons satan shines before your **** .
The Piraeus kalamatan 12 thugs
Human trafficking predators
GO FLAT lined DIE! **** of Earth
✓\✓\✓\✓_there won't be no trial.
I SEE RED butcher haters.
pepper spray you burning swords, knives in your gut better sleep with one eye open covert fools I am all you are never could be I succeeded where you failed.
Cheating ******* plotting butchering me pregnant I survived you in Mexico in Greece and in USA team of arrogant proud butchers!
Yes I am a surviver a witness to your nasty hate crimes.
✓\✓_
__
Those nasty doctors murderers for hire assassin's from corrupt LA,  CA!
I  see red executioner style.
On fire my flame sword on hand
straight to your heart and brain. Elizabeth Welonek Gumnedin your impostor
Fraudulent birth certificate go to hell,my children aren't dogs to be sold to bail you out if ******* dues!  
Your life line is going flat flat flat
don't blame me here I learned from you
and my new name is JUSTICE.
°°°°°°°°
As for you my first love jpcrdd
you could have asked me questions where I've been who had kidnapped me!
Given me your heart diamond ring in your coat pocket.
You ran to your greedy lover crawling for you.
I wish you nothing bad I still love you.
You had my best interest tried to save me from this hell I still need your protection don't forget
your one piece of golden heart
holds me dear as you promised.
The world will pass
but not your word.
Save my children please or
Build me a home your heart is
my last card you're generous
to a fault the wolves howl
in this homeless jungle
I am no longer Jane
I got a name- JUSTICE
please help me.
~~~~~
Mr and Mrs Andrews
with Karijinbba
https://youtu.be/PrnOcI-s_fU
LJ May 2016
I withhold this trophy tonight
for the worry you lag on and on
a sack you drag as it parties
owning your back, breaking the light

I withhold my hand and stop the words
for your voice seeps the air I  breath
a strangle of the life that smiles
tugging me in the abyss of your devoid

I withhold my trust as I can't censor
the irk that traps and can't be tamed
a mafia that drives you crazy 24 hours
drugging me in a cage of no care

I withhold my question about our intentions
the drive that makes me explode
as I can't blame or save your paranoia
telling a fiction in the reality of stolen memories
Stop the worry baby, remove that heavy sack lagging from your back. Love you loads! Let the monster go! Be a free spirit, the world will just trap you love!
Martin Narrod May 2015
Inside, Your cancer's beating heart
My ******* shakes, dirt dust gone
I swipe the sand away. For every ounce of ****
Laughing out meaty red raw steaks and size zero thighs.

     - For everythingsobad. You rattle my dream box with your sweet blue face and your gauges for neither being an idiot or being human. Too cute of you booboo. Captivity claws at you, you big bafoon, intolerant, shuffling your predicates back and forth during your 12am nonsensical *******. So long as it doesn't interfere with your curfew.

Like soggy altered-state popcorn. Your butter catches more flies than knives, the inauthentic gestures spattering over the rhythms and rolls of your fingertips is torture to watch. Kitchen countertop influenza. A tired dictionary of sad words, poor misfortunes, tired eyelids, silty and sandy crusty inside corners of the eyes

                           .rearing privilege

countertop crawlers. inaudible coos used by muses who can't keep their musings from tangling the long distance dial tone soaring through the ears like an Italian operatic melodrama. A horse, three brides, and a funeral. One woman, a sick child, blindness, blinding caused by toxins of the body stuck inside your gelatinous fishlike eyelids. Where's there an eye bib and a lance when you need one? A nifty electric toothbrush shank with extra reach and plaque protection. You're the kitchen sink they threw in, a budget meeting with a data analysis staph infection. A government where nobody wins. All the kids grow up with thin skin and an aorta with no ventricles in it. It's like the cynical prison system that we had to survive in our 8th grade basement dungeon. Thundering, curmudgeons drugging sluggishly, **** teen thugs. Preteen pornstars sluicing cash through their meaty canals, ******* the ******* and ******* the back bare in a messy afternoon of **** *******. Crusty infectious rumors made worse by brothers and moms, eating handfuls of Norco just to keep the family strong.
students ******* bitchesbrew resy earchanddevelopment gettingthediseaseout photograph photo pic picture pictures poetry poets chicago boys2men kristinescolan upsetdevelopment house
It’s nearly Christmas in the café; I just got my first card
So please Saint Nic just tell me why, enthusiasm’s hard?
I should be full of Christmas cheer, jingle bells all ringing
Baubles bouncing, tinsel shining, wondering what Santa’s bringing
I’ve not put up my Christmas tree, not hung my decorations
There’s not a single fairly light to hint at celebrations

The talk inside the café is evenly divided
Some can’t wait for Christmas while others have decided
That Christmas cheer has passed them by, can’t wait till it’s all done
They wonder why we bother when the cheer is so hard won
Worrying about the presents, have you got the bird?
Putting up the Christmas tree, the pressure is absurd

Whichever camp that we are in, humbug or Christmas cheer
We know just what will happen, because it happens every year
On Christmas Eve you’ll find us, running round just like a ******
Because you can’t have Christmas pudding without ****** brandy butter
The turkey won’t fit in the oven because it’s so **** big
And Grandad will be drunk by three and snoring like a pig

The kids will all be running round high on Quality Street
And you’ll be close to screaming as they get under your feet
At half past five it starts again with sandwiches and tea
With endless arguments over what’s on the TV
And all you wanted was to watch the new Wallace and Grommit
But you can’t because the quality street have reappeared as *****

When finally you get some peace and the kids are all in bed
You settle down on the sofa to watch Emmerdale instead
You remember that tomorrow, Uncle Jim and Auntie Brend
And all their various filthy offspring are due to descend
You haven’t got the joint out yet, the veg are all unpeeled
And if you're honest last year’s mental scars have not yet healed

So valiantly on you tread, even though inside you feel
You’ll end up in an asylum if another sprout you peel
What is it that keeps you going through this annual affair?
What makes you peel eighty more sprouts, what makes you want to care?
What makes you put up with more stress at this time of year?
What stops you killing Jim and Brend and drugging Grandad’s beer?

No Saint Nic I’m not sure either. Isn’t that quite weird?
It cannot be because of Jesus, the cool bloke with the beard.
I don’t think he would worry about the sprouts so much
Or think that turkey’s so important; perhaps we’re out of touch
Perhaps Christmas makes us crazy in a very special way
Just to make us more grateful for every other normal day

So whilst I’m not entirely sure that Christmas is a boon
I’m fairly sure I’ll be infused with Christmas spirit soon
I’ll hang up all my tinsel, get my ***** coordinated
By the time I have my tree up humbug will be eliminated
It’s a little bit like childbirth, this irrational Christmas fear
But that’s ok because once it’s gone I’ll forget it till next year.
kate crash Mar 2010
feelin' wild like runnin in the trees jumpin from the slums of the mind the oily quick sand hands called silence and control, america, how i wish u'd unbigbrother urself and support the artists, but that would require slime'ing away from big bank funding, corporates drugging us zombies called humanity... to be an artist at times can be so liberating and so uncertain. hello eviction notice, hello
Surviving beneath bypass
Cardboard ripping, some spyglass
Thin covering, protection
Sharpening knife, perfection

Past life professional man
Bad karma, God, dealt sad hand
Panhandling corner right here
Homemade sign makes purpose clear

People ignoring, glower
Certainly love hot shower
Having nothing accept rags
Don't own anything, no bags

Eating something, drugging, *****
What's needed most cannot choose
Spent long hot days begging cash
Got *****, finished dining trash

Trodded back to cardboard home
Peeking out feeling all alone
jennee Dec 2014
I dream of a life living in hell. It's insane I know, but I love picturing myself in bruises and more scars than I already have. I fantasize of someone kicking me in the face, mutilating myself and drugging every last inch of my brain with more memories that can stimulate my being traumatized. Everyone dreams of a happy, non-problematic life, truth be told I do too, but there are just moments were I picture a person smothered in pity and suicide.
I take hours driving into nowhere. I leave at dawn or in the middle of the night and have long conversations with a lover who craves for lust as much as I do. But it will always be her or maybe him and I. Just the two of us, driving towards utopia but mistaking the roads and ending up in an opposite world.
I dream of having *** that will make me feel alive. On the road, in the middle of nowhere, abandoned houses, motels, bathroom stalls and bedrooms that smell of old newspapers and cardboards. My partner scratching me as I bleed. I dream of a him and a her, a ****** up version of me, filled with tattoos and scars, who drown themselves in ***** and cigarettes, and someone who thinks just as I do. They choke me with words, and penetrations. Maybe fingers and wet lips. I always give in, and they are always in control.
I dream of crying on their necks or shoulders, releasing my anger and all the heat into their kisses and lust. I dream of him or her, finding me, a little too late, in a bathtub filled with a lifeless and breathless body. And they will mourn over me and join me later on, on the journey.

It's sick of me, for someone to think this way, maybe I'm just too ****** up, maybe I need help, but I guess these are my horrible fantasies, of a tragic life I crave for. A world where no one cares and thinks about me except maybe for that person. A world where I dream of killing myself and breathing in drugs to help me forget about the perfect life I am in.

But that world does not exist. I live in this one where I am me. I have scars, I smoke, I eat, I breathe, I talk, I laugh, I'm happy and alive. That world is just another one of my desires and fantasies. Another definition of the word "living"

n.j.
Michael Murphy May 2023
You're talking in circles
And ever so fast

Lie after lie
You're trying to pass

Drinking and Drugging
Are making it worse

You think that it's helping
It's really a curse

You want money from me
That I can't do

You think that it's love
If only you knew

True love is resisting
Your pleas in the night

Your angry words hurt
I don't want to fight

If I ever give in
To your devils I fear

It will **** you for sure
And we'll both disappear
My adult adopted daughter suffers from bipolar.  She is usually ok until she gets bored and turns to drugs and drinking.  Hard to help, and hard to watch.
JL Oct 2011
But one day when futures are bright
And school children dress in Sunday best
Great Machines will rise above the smoke
Great Buildings will rise above the smog
Great Minds will remain buried deep in humming labs
Scientist and machines
Gears and cogs
Rusting in the fluorescent
Glow
Of progress

Boys will
Girls will
Fight the good fight
Of human being
The Kissing on each other
The Drugging with each other
Afternoons and jumped fences
Just to feel each others secrets


Boys will
Girls will
Be just as wrong
And just as bad
And will grow to say
Good boys and Good Girls Never do those things
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
this feeds me: http://tinyurl.com/hvz44mr - sure, when you see flowers pollinate more frequently, and pigs slaughtered more so, you begin to wonder: this gentlemanly approach to things is really paying off... sure is... oh well, why are they born to necessitate such matrimony kindred to sadism? why?! by now i'm in the refugee camp: i really don't care, just get me off this orbital **** of pathos.

when bass and drums merge,
and soon overpowered rhythm guitars
all long gone...
                                    i don't have to be right,
or wrong,
                      Sacha Baron Cohen and the Cohen
brothers (albeit distinctive) and
     Mel Brooks still understand comedy:
has to do about something concerning genitalia,
but feel the rhythm,
                      it's slightly dangerous,
it's thematic according to a rheumatic
piston sharpening to pulverise you into
a state of being brain dead, that's dangerous,
skin-heads aplenty, with the fake dodo-extinction
of the left leaves the right ripe and open
to invigorate itself... just like
Urban the 2nd launched the crusades during
the first crusade... my ethnic cousins were not involved,
we waited for the Teutons, then the Mongols,
what a magical ethnic diversity,
                         you end up discarding English
media, even if or whenever they come up with a story
akin to *all the king's men
- whoop d d'ah:
               helium filled balloons...
                      because what you're speaking is: i'm not
discovering as a legitimate differentiation
basis for either Lenin or Lennon -
                            shoot the dummy,
well: you're all Clinton and California is orange...
                         you see, techno punk is vague...
i'm vague...
                     i loved being in brothels,
they told me about black boys with elephants *****
and tried to get me angry,
         hell, i passed the test when one ******* stole
my bank card and the **** showed me an *** array of
stolen cards in his plagiarism wallet...
                                many more examples...
why did i retire my youth and beauty to
encounter prostitutes?
                ever tried courting an English girl?
i dare say, gnarl?
                                             you'd sooner find a *******
leprechaun than **** an English girl...
                               the bony **** of my own extensive limb
curled got boring, university wasn't the 1960s,
               i didn't want to ****...
i didn't want a Clinton reputation...
                 what's the answer? am i gay? no!
brothel 999.
                          well: if you're not going to **** me,
and i'm tired of yanking the doodle and saying
*** is actually Switzerland, where am i to go?
          the only way is brothel-land.
                                  **** a nippy chicken off a supermarket
shelf? is that your idea of currency?
                  oh i heard, two guys drugged a girl
***** her then impaled her like a Polish-Lithuanian
          Commonwealth baron speaking Ukrainian
in Argentina... then the street protests...
           i'm convict for rightfully paying for ***,
paying an extra £10 for eating the genitals out,
         making a Jewish joke akin to Balaam -
getting what i want,
                                    telling the British girls:
oh here comes the Pakistanis, curry kebab dab in that?
sure!
               whey hey!
                                   Sinjit's your uncle!
why the **** would you wonder why i designate
myself as being misogynist?
                                   i conceptualised the idea by
splitting the Cartesian Siamese distraction
into two: ergo doesn't necessarily precipitate into
the arithmetic...
                    i coordinate otherwise...
                                        going to the brothel liberated
me from dating culture,
                          from dating apps,
                                  from that i call pork trimmings.
easy to say you're an atheist but have no atheistic
thought to back it up... and few hardly do:
    because it's easy to assume you are something
but have no agreeable thought to manage the throttling
being as such.
                  a man can masquerade his delving
into lost genital interaction for only so long,
but when you live in a society where women are deaf
and blind, and prefer the company of perverts...
hey **! the ****** are parading and knocking on your
front-doors...
                      because they can, and because they will...
            what, you want to date?
                       is that eating a date while breaking
the Raamadam fasting month?
                      you got to be ******* kidding me...
don't bother...
                                      you'll die a *******-load of
squatting ***** exercises that's politically merely a
handshake... if the English girl don't give to a man:
        then let the perverts come -
i'm done.... Bulgarian ****** taught me all i need to know,
and i even decided to pay an extra £10 to slurp up that
excess of Isaac's necktie on the altar of Abraham -
funny how the Aztecs built pyramids but where not
interrupted: 'cos they were palaces of capital punishment
not trivial tombs!
                                  they taught me more than
i could have ever learned...
             when it comes to dating these days?
i can't be bothered, should i be bothered? probably no.
well, there's that case of drugging a girl, ****** her
and then impaling her in Argentina...
                       with so many insects roaming the place,
you're bound to feel a desire to ****,
  and when not gratified and not interested in games,
you go the source of your woes and
                    desire to buy salt,
and you buy salt,
                 and oh god, it's so impersonal
and yourself so intact,  and then you leave,
                                      and then you have very or merely
little concern for keeping certain things memorable.
Mark Wanless Jan 2022
lost in the desert of noise
eating greasy gobs
pain is the penalty of life
drugging in the hotel bathroom
spitting out the window
trashing all there is
complaining about the ****** mess
screaming no i didn't do this
Antony Padilla Sep 2012
i saw her and she cleared my sinuses
and my mouth went dry
when she walked up to me
and slipped her killer thighs next to mine
and whispered softly in my ear
heavy
fresh
breath
i smell her winterfresh
Bold.
i feel it tickle my neck
and linger under my lobe
her message wasn't that long
but she stretched it out
like she's stretchin all over me
deep in my
personal space
but i find that i really,
really,
(really)
don't mind
she fits me
like a puzzle piece
makes me feel relaxed
almost sleepy
but with senses more acute
im in a dreamlike state
like she's drugging me
and i suppose she is
high off thoughts of her unclothed promises
her lips stick together
and words drip slowly from them
and waver in the air
hesitant to leave
those two juicy
(those too juicy)
lipglossed lemon drops
of heaven
this girl is trouble-full
rather then troublesome
and oooooo
how i like it
she's the bad chick
who doesn't mind it
when you tell her so
and sort of likes it
when you choke her throat
if just a little
she's a force of nature
and my favorite kind
of riddle
g clair Sep 2013
Haling down a cab that's going far too fast,
standing on the roadside as it's flying past
turn and watch the tail lights as the next one's slowing down
Picking up the pieces that were left behind
Thought that you were broken but I've come to find
all these things were welded into something of a cabbie's crown

you were cheap, you were easy,going my way, going ******
not the Ritz, hotel cheesy,down in Helluva, that's Hell
then you prayed, and you pondered, and at once your sins were laundered
now your past won't weigh you down,looks like you're holding up quite well

once incarcerated for a job you did
spent a year in prison, you were just a kid
didn't even know enough to cover up the video
the drinking and the drugging and the life you knew
da pimpsters and da players with da cooties who
left you feeling ***** but I see you've got a whole new show

you were free,you were lazy, going my way,going crazy
almost pushin' up a daisy,you were halfway home to Hell
then you prayed.and you pondered,and at once your sins were laundered
now your past won't weigh you down, I see you're holding up quite well

Choking on the ashes of your history
how you got away from them a mystery
the gas was on the burners babe, and someone blew the pilot out
so now you drive a taxi for the NYC
working nights, you tell me, "no one rides for free"
Got to hand it to you, you're a hacker, but you've worked it out

you were rough,you were noisy, going my way, back to Joisey
going anywhere, but Boise,not just anywhere, but Hell
then you prayed, and you pondered,and at once your sins were laundered
now your past can't weigh you down, you wear your cabbie crown quite well.
Dylan Mcconnell Jun 2019
If the streets could talk they’d tell me to come back to them, that I need them, I’m truthfully not “better off without” them.

If I could respond to the streets I’d say I don’t need you. This is my battle and I’m at rock bottom. I can only go up, and as I go up… I will no longer see you because I’m twelve hundred percent sure that I am better off without you. I don’t need to be high to fulfill the darkest parts of my soul. I don’t need to be high to be happy, content, or musically talented. It isn’t aesthetic. It’s not aesthetic. It. Is. Not. Aesthetic.

If the streets could talk they’d say ******* for becoming sober. That’s the worst choice you could’ve made in years. That decision is worse than trying to **** yourself. See the streets would rather see you dead from addiction, as opposed to becoming sober.

Well, ******* for making me want to become sober. ******* for making me want to die. And honestly, ***** you for everything you’ve torn from me. From sending me to jail as a tiny seventeen-year-old to making me off myself a good 4 times just ‘cause I couldn’t find drugs.

The streets would even go as far as to say: “rip everyone off, do bunches of drugs, leave everyone dry around you, and call it a day. Then sleep the high off, and next time you have an appointment, come to it high. #YOLO”

Y’anno what? YOLO is one ******* phrase. I live once, you’re right, Mr.Streets. But I want to be sober the majority of this living. I’m 18 and a half and have so much further to go in life. I want to become an addictions art therapist and I want to be at Zoe and Eden’s weddings. I want so much in life. None of which concerns the streets.

“Don’t listen to that cliche music, says the streets. Y’anno? That Macklemore **** that’s all about becoming clean? Eminem? Nah. None of that. You listen to music that glorifies drugs.” says the streets.

Also, if it takes listening to “Starting Over” by Macklemore 20 times a day and Dave’s Song by Whitney another 30 times a day, I’ll do it. Because at least I’ll be sober. Singing is something that brings me utter joy. As is writing and painting. And in order to do my best. I need to be pretty **** sober.

“No cigarettes do not count as addiction. Want to know what does? Buying pills with your disability checks. Now that ****’s ******* great. ******* for trying to get clean.” the streets say.

Bro. I’m bro-ing to you because we’ve reached that point of nonsense. You don’t get it, do you? I need to not spend my minimal money on drugs. Yes, cigarettes are a drug. I’ll get there with quitting those too. Instead of drugging myself up, I need to dye my hair, watch slam poetry, and sing. Sing. sing. Sing. Sing until my heart is full and complete.
Sobriety's a *****.
Hello Daisies May 2023
They say to stop being sad
About the same thing
Now I'm sad about everything
Maybe I don't know a good thing
Til it's gone
So I try to hold on
To everything
Everything


My head is screaming
It's screaming to tear apart
My heart
If I don't let it out
It'll continue to shout
Inside my head
Inside my head
Screaming
Screaming
Not for death?
Then for what
For what

Nobody believes me
Nobody sees me
Nobody hears me
They think I'm ok
I just have too much to say
Too much to say
In a day
They ask
How can I be sick?
You look ok
It makes me sick
They think that way


They say to stop being sad
About the same thing
Now I'm sad about everything
Maybe I don't know a good thing
Til it's gone
So I try to hold on
To everything
Everything


Nobody sees
*** they don't want to believe
I'm not cutting myself
I'm not drugging myself
I'm not killing myself
So I must be ok

It's simply not that way

I've heard it my entire life
I've been ignored
Told I'm fine
Professionals and
Family
They don't know
How they've
****** me
To screaming
Inside my head
Screaming
It won't stop
Til I let it out

This is my healing
My art
Just like me
It's torn apart
Ignored
Tortured
For truth
Tortured
For attention
Never to mention

How badly
How strongly
I fight
The urge
Every night
To drink myself to death
To try something crazy
To throw myself from the ledge
Maybe a needle would help
Maybe the guilt
Wouldnt be felt
Maybe I can be dealt
with
I try every day
As I tear my skin away
To be okay
I'm not
I'm not
I'm not *******
Okay
I'm insane
I know this
I rationalize this
But it's not
Bliss
It's not easy
Nothing can please me
The screaming
Keeps coming
Until it's quiet

When it's quiet
I'm sad
But I'm quiet
I'm alone
I'm in bed
Stuck to my phone
Empty
Empty

Nobody gets me
....

They say to stop being sad
About the same thing
Now I'm sad about everything
Maybe I don't know a good thing
Til it's gone
So I try to hold on
To everything
Everything


The screaming comes
I then become
Annoying
Crying
Buying
Lying
Dying
Until
I write
I write
It needs to be let out
I feel I never
let the deepest parts
Out
The right way
The right way
How can I say it
I'm paying for it
The lies I tell
The way I held
Myself up
I'm just a silly
Goofy
Eccentric nuisance
I don't need help
I don't need felt
Listened to
Heard
I can be
Ignored
It's in me
Swirling all around me
Tearing apart my body
I want to scream
I want to run away
I'm always running
Running
I hate running
What am I running to?
Sometimes I think
Death
But I'm terrified
Of nothingness
I want to release
Open my flesh
Cut me
Shoot me
Gun me
Let me misbehave
Let me show you
The cave
I live in
The maniac
I fight
I am not winning
I'm not sinning
I'm only leaning
Closer
Closer
Closer to
Pure insanity
I fight so hard
I get no credit
Because I never let it
Show
Never let it
Show
I never let it
Go
Never can
I let everything
Strand
Me
Hurt me
And I keep it
I hold it
I don't know a good thing
Til it's gone

So I hold on
To everything
But it's wrong
Some things
Are bad
Bad
Bad
I'm going
Mad mad
Mad
From the screaming
But nobody's listening
Maybe I should run
Maybe I should cut
Maybe I should fill my gut
With poison
Give me one reason
Why
Why
If I don't try to die
Die
Die
Nobody listens to me
Cry
Cry
Cry

They say to stop being sad
About the same thing
Now I'm sad about everything
Maybe I don't know a good thing
Til it's gone
So I try to hold on
To everything
Everything


How can I let go
Let go
How can I show
Show
The pain inside
The reasons I cry
Without hurting myself
Without losing myself
Without
All this hell ?

Can anybody tell
...
Maybe they can
They just...

    Don't care
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
working "backwards" from something already
started in: collateral and the chicken scratching exercise...

how can you not have a hard-on
for mel gibson's beard...
in... the professor and the madman -
detailing the... etymological events
surrounding something more dear to me...
than the pslams of king david
or the: wisdoms of king solomon...
the wisdom: thus derived...
after a man becomes: ostensibly...
bored with a harem...
that would become the blueprint
of envy for future men of the world...

alexander the great...
muhammad...
           it's not a bible... it's a...
dic-tio-nary... stop the press...
pluck all the feathers from all the magpies
in the land... tell Xerxes to stop
whistling at the sea and...
can we just stop with the b.d.s.m.
of the waves?

        head: rotondo! spin ****** spin!
anything in the "pejorative"...
god... this moloch of grammar of a deity...
we need to ensure there's a scrutiny
of each and every, yes: every word...
we need to sieve them through
the categories!

i put to mind:
     it's a comparison of catchphrases...
the war hogs cite it as:
collateral damage...
the civilian will rummage and pluck out:
the... "rhetorical question"...
can... you... put... rhetoric: to a question?
can a rhetorical question:
actually exist... like a unicorn can?
oh wait... kangaroo yes...
a platypus... oh a double yes...

can you... can you... "rhetorical question"?
what the hell is a rhetorical question:
if not, something akin to a fashion statement...
of the calibre: a short-black-'un...
a coco chanel mini-skirt...

what is... a rhetorical question?
a question is, i hope...
something that manages to endorse
the dialectic...
and anyone who engages with a dialectic
will / or should know:
there's no rhetorical question...
when being asked:
one doesn't... "somehow"...
find a magic plot of a forest with smurfs...
and goes off on a tangent speaking...
persuasively...
a rhetoric question isn't a question
at all...

        collateral damage among the war hogs
is a rhetorical question among the civilians...

the story of professor james murray
and dr. william minor...
and to think... the alienists (psychiatrists)
at the time thought that...
enforced regurgitation...
could animate the body to conjure up
an already exhausted soul...
what ancient romans did for masochistic pleasure:
bulimia in the rudiment of:
a fork of fingers agitating the throat
and subsequently the oesophagus
to: bring back... what was already in fractions...

some call it soul, some call it x... y...
that... indispensable will: for animation...
to perform the 80 year old (in total) magic trick
of being: immune...
to the ills and forgivings of others...
a standard praise of solipsism...
as a thought-experiment... nothing more...
from which one can...
come and go as freely as one can vote
in a democracy...

come when summoned... leave when...
not made into any greater necessity other than:
to make fair of the count...

truly: a hard-on for mel gibson's beard...
some can claim ***** envy...
i have beard envy...
like to-hat envy when someone is 5'11"
and i'm still the same old 6'2"...

rhetorical question... i always found questions
to be... of a... dialectical nature...
i can hardly think of a rhetorical question
or rhetorical answer...
a rhetorical question implies:
the questioner has more to say...
than the person intended to answer...
i can hardly anyone burn through oration
when being posed a question...
a question: per se... is not something one
can be certain about: esp. when giving a reply...

a rhetorical question is a k.f.c. mouse urban
myth... a bit like collateral damage:
did we destroy a bullet making factory?
no... but we killed some civilians...
or some sort of entreating variation of worshipping
the drugging and bullet dodging machinery
of: cold the bullet bit...

how can you pose a rhetorical question?
is someone about to make a rhetorical answer?
robots would behave within rhetorical confines
of being asked an absolute:
error message - replying with an absolute yes / no...

a rhetorical question would beg
for a ore rotundo: with a voice filled with assurance...
the question is imposed...
with a curiosity... at best: with doubt...
uncertainty... at worst: with a negation:
waiting for the wrong answer...
but no dialectic is ever to be established
working from a rhetorical question...
a socrates would be:
the dialectical surgeon...
the affair of the question doesn't go beyond...
whoever is questioning:

oh!           oh!
a rhetorical question is... not for someone
to address the question...
but a pursuit of the questioner to continue asking
question...
a rhetorical question is... to further the lineage
of questions... to be therefore "rhetorical"
is to inquire more... rather than reply with
a rhetorical certainty...
a rhetorical question isn't a question...
it's a cascade of questions...

******* and the myth of the gateway...
after **** i did the next best thing...
i rediscovered bourbon as ms. amber...
that once you watch just a little bit of it...
you will turn toward finding out more graphic
content...
so... me looking out for the most *******
music: combichrist... :wumpscut,
vomito *****...
                  *****... graphic... *******?
or... gloryhole ***** *******...
               or pregnant women: so *****...
       or japanese gravure models...
"problem" with japanese models...
              *** bots? aren't they here already...
with these porcelain mannequins?
touch a hand it breaks or fizzles into...
ash...
  as happens when you've been at "it"...
puritanical victorian von krafft-ebbing...
i sometimes know what the ******* is for...
i hardly think it necessary to listen to what's
"moral" from circumcised... gentile...
north-h'americans...
                    jerking off since aged 8...
brain rot started way back... in 1994...
which is before the internet...
   gateway... my ***...
         japanese gravure and Agnolo Bronzino...

who needs "more"... when you have a mel gibson
beard-envy!

the chair can remain a chair...
but there's a termite colony wriggling in it...
i don't need to see it...
i just need to hear it...
combichrist: like to thank my buddies,
    today i woke to the rain of blood...
                   all pain is gone...
       cheap thrill seeing heaven:
better tamed - attempting to listen to the litanies
escaping hell...
a written word in hell is like...
     because the hands are being crushed
in monkey-wrenches and there's Spinoza
cackling...

   who needs more ******* and ride-me-timmy
the horses' laugh when music can
compensate... and otherwise find the better
kind of: the feeding outlet...

a rhetorical question: is that for the answer to
be tinged with rhetorical gravitas?
no... then every question socrates every posed
what a rhetorical question:
and the concern for dialectics is a dummy...
which is probably true: reading what sort
of answers those put under the scrutiny give:
is response...

i must be wrong: a rhetorical question:
is not simply a question...
a rhetorical question could perhaps give
the person answering a spark of rhetoric...
a rhetorical question should:
by default... provide you with a rhetorical
answer... but all it does is...
further a second question...
and a third... a fourth...
    so more for the "famous" dialectic...
when all that seems to happen...
one only becomes a rhetorician: via question...
rather than merely: talking...

the rhetorical question is therefore
the basis of "dialectics": which is no basis for
dialectics per se...
it's the persuaded question-prone antagonist:
who is hardly the narrator...
and the answer is always the same:
shut up! i'm talking over you...
i'll just disguise this whole affair in a question
and minor answer cited: a perfectly well
equipped yes: or no... will suffice:
or a nod of approval worded...
                  socrates the bane of sophists
and rhetoricians...
a subtle project... you are not interrupted...
when to stress an invocation
of fake curiosity: by asking a question...
the sort of question...
a rhetorical question... that will not usurp
your original: intent monologue of sophistry...

an echo is all the rave when it comes
to a rhetorical question...
a rhetorical question feeds of: yes / no answers...
and there i was thinking that a rhetorical
question implies:
whoever answers... will break into
a rhetorical answer... verbatim the quran
akin to a hafiz! nope...
a rhetorical question is a punctuation mark:
one hopes... of what a rhetorician would usually do...
when having a voice in the congregation
of docile elders...

socrates: the elder... found an audience
among the athenian young... because?
        he stressed that rhetoric had to have overtones
of questioning: without really questioning...
what sort of "dialectic" is there to be had:
what: dialogue...
when... the dialogue leaves one side with
a narrator and protagonist semblance?
and the characters: ergo? are nothing but nail-heads
for the hammer to plough through?!

oddly enough... Plato ****** off Socrates so
hard... that Socrates became...
the first non-hasidi...
to be circumcised... by pursed lips...
yep... Plato ****** off Socrates' *******:
right off... thinking the phallus...
was in the no-man's land of comparsion
to a chicken drum-stick!
antagonism: of how favourable the "dialogues"
are cited...
i've had a similar experience...
i really don't know what this... "e-prostitution"
is about...
before the internet... i am probably one of
the last few who blushed when buying a magazine
at the newsagent with all them *******...
and: curated ***** hairs:
less of a chin and more...
the pelvic "hubris" / canvas...

                 brothel: tick...
strip-club: tick...
              what's given everyone a hot-cross bun
shivers...
          "never paid"... but otherwise paid:
for the insinuation...
and the insinuation was: a date...
look at it as... no ******* dysfunction...
and no money for a date...
straight back into the salt mines
and trench digging... no time for honey:
oh boobie and frankly my dear:
i don't drown herrings...

       a rhetorical question is also a compound-misnomer...
yep... the idea of a rhetorical-question
is a compound-misnomer:

take me on a chain to the goblet...
pay the extra to rid the matter:
seven tongues instead of one...
gorging on the inquiry of Gomorrah...
to better couplet to the banquet of *****!
that ***** treat us Gomorrah civically dutied:
as worse than rats and shadows...
and the plebs just entertain...
       what would ever come from
the mouth of ***** as:
       prized bulls of drag-queen story-hour...
shame those without foreskins...
comparison...
a o.k. to be gay...
                what's date-night?
is that... something -esque having coupled
a mahjong with a niqab?!
why don't all the muslim women take
the best route... join the surgeon mask-equipped
crowds... and no... simple forget the hijab...
donning the full niqab?!
why?!

who needs seeking more depraved *****
beside... Bronzino and japanese gravure models...
and all that elasticity of:
electricity passing through an iron maiden
via... combichrist: sent to destroy...
hardly "destroy": cultivate...
recycle... call the parasites into hubris *******
haitus...

also "in response" to: the kinks and the...
"celibate" priesthood...
        because: you know, the kinks and all that:
******* music and fine detaiks of:
when the butcher will be cited...
looking at a slab of meat...
and calling a harem of pigs...
that floral... pinky tidbit "in the middle":
avert your eyes:
how god's finger touched adam's...
and via what...

it doesn't come more ******* than...
drinking lukewarm whiskey...
that i can stand...
but if anyone's drinking ***** not suberged
into gomme syrop consistency...
there's: should we say...
a... "spot of bother"...

              i wouldn't mind...
that bourbon as a quiet distinct perfume
associated with brothels...
and it's just that...
          but... e-prostitution: for the "tease"?
the wrath of adam:
sort of ******* in between:
when the ****** brigade comes along
and stops at thge madonna-***** complex?
i'm scratching my head:
either i'm thinking of a ? or my i.q.
one internet sight should be in existance...
dedicated... to the unabashed puritanism
of dogs licking their genitals...
because: a priori: who would have "known"...

and also to chronicle the sights and wonders
of... KMFDM stand-out tracks...
but a sight levereging "*****" of...
dogs teasing testicles with "prudence"
of a... the fastest waggle in all of: "arizona"...
chant!
chant! F.S.A. - which makes it more and less:
"united"
   the federal states of h'america...
     number 1 subscriber...
albert razin...
    is this... is this... what "integration" looks like?
like hell i'll give up what's
festering knee-deep at the rim...
i'll talk english just fine with
the natives... but when the natives:
tell me that:
true integration is a complete whitewash
of your "former" identity: you
integrate by "forgetting" your mother tongue...
i have... this juggernaut... craze-fit in
my eyes...
   then, why, don't, you, send, me,
a, postcard, from france: IN FWENCH!
this global mantra of: english solves everything...
not unless you're of a Dutch or
Scandinavian origin...
you have already learned this...
"lingua franca": this l'inglese...
lucky for the WELSH! who are you...
you anglo-saxon globalist mongrel?!
where is your anglo- counterfeit bypasser...
UND... wohin ist ihr Sachsen?
and where is your saxony: saxon?
have i an axe to better grind?
           jude-nomade-mischling!
you're no better than your claim!
ficken-jude-sächsisch-anglo-anlage-gehenvolk...
all this: for the insomnia parade?!
24 / 7 news reels?!
         alles diese... für was?!

if they only spoke two languages...
perhaps... less retards spreading the "crown":
licking ice-cream tubs...
open / the end... closed: also the end...
verzögernzüchtung...
          ******-breeding...
        ­                i have to admit... it sounds as crisp as:
gin
                                   &                        tonic...
and lapses into epilepsy...
because the "hierarchy" says: such words...
such words: no no: with a BIG no-no
when used...

                here too, i... will ****...
on every prematurely demented kin of moi...
because... the hierarchy of termites and of ants...
dictates so... while the congregation of:
man and ape... isn't sure... what animal is worth
borrowing a metaphor from!
to... "progress"...
like little **** and please staging all that
copernican ******* ever did...
the surgical masks...
shot dead in the Philippines
for not wearing one... "stigma" and the niqab...
at least the cherries on these cream-pies...
could at least turn proper ortho-and-doxing...
with a niqab...
pwetty pwease...  

all the airs and graces...
some nut would have made it this far...
Kierkegaard as proof...
"you don't think before you speak":
i rather, i much rather entertain
the freedom to think... and extend this freedom
into writing...
before i have to eat my own *****
when having to place editorial pressures
on having made video content...
i much prefer the ignoble citation:
and the devil has had these hands busy-bodied...
and all the blessings to the devil for that...
because...
is there such a concept as:
an idle tongue?

               i don't know:
i would like to, though...
live a month's worth of living...
on a salary of a... h'american...
             preacher...
under communism:
no brain-drain...
not best of the best will ever rise...
but at the same time...
so too will not the mediocre...
i thought it could be cited at:
the meek shall inherit the earth...
   talk about a disparity between
the meek and the mediocre...

if only i was the "correct" pronoun
to want: but i do...
have the capacity and enough excuses...
to start donning...
corsets and... high-heel shoes...
then again: if i joined the army...
nothing stand-out...
not uniforms to stand out within
a caste system... uniforms for
the napoleonic era... and that noting me as...
quick-off-the-mark...
suregon of the needle... and quiffs...
until the wehrmacht period...

  ha! the poles on horseback: "once upon a time"
looked bewildering...
the charge of the Krojanty...
well... horses do not seem that bad...
the poles on horses...
when back west...
you had the Dutch... on bicycles...
oh sure... the horse was somehow the "joke"...
but the bicycle was...
   like the pope appeasing the fuhrer...
and "they" would wonder:
        who's who....
the bicycle is gone...
who's who on the left-over peddlestool?!
postman pat proof:
  i think i oops... forgot to detail
the whole idea and economy with...
licking something... beside...
   that quick-and-made-essential:
              amnesia rubric count... which was?

yep... the poles on horseback look
and will forever look more ridiculous...
than... the dutch defence...
on... ha ha! bicycles!

read my proof: am i... "integrated"
is my: english not a word salad:
the scrutiny will come from someone sobering
up from an irish heritage...
is there a niqab or a bindi or a turban on me?
is my language still a word salad?
am i, integrated... "enough"...
not enough i dare say...

       well... about time these natives
learn some postcard and tourisms' worth
of second lingo... italian would be just fine...
since... they are still... hung up on being
so pround of being the afghanistan of the roman
empire...
          and... where is afghanistan when is comes
to... the house of saud and arabia?
i'd grovel... for that kind of goat herders...
and... pashtun poetics!
   queen of the floral: no **** mind to spare...
and if only this wasn't...
rummaging in essex...
more for the cause! new york!
n'aaaaaah...
                
                        i speak for the devil i speak
in about 12... with variations of invocation...
but this is not god speaking...
i am... not a monolingual pre-nomad arab taste...
sitting on a coal-**** turning liquid into
oil: "all of a sudden"...
Jessica Austin Mar 2012
She's spinning
swirling
cyclic dancing
laughing as she's undermining
all her chances
slip through her hands and
she's still smile -
smiling.

Hunting
hurting
rhythmic burning
up and under iron churning
she sees hell
too far to tell
and she's still smile -
smiling.

Loving
drugging
pear tree smuggling
through the leaves
and water bubbling
and lying there
above the ground
floating
holding
not a sound
she tips up
her head on hold
and she's still smile -
smiling.

Plucking
clucking
back-woods *******
but she's too gone
to know it's wrong
her fight is lost
the stars are crossed
and she's still smile -
smiling.
Marking this 'Explicit', just to be safe...
Joe Fortunato Mar 2015
Things she's good at...
Hmmm, let's see.
Talking, and napping, and watching TV,
Whining, and crying, and sighing again.
Again, and again, and over again.

Oh crap, this poem, it's about a princess you see,
But so far I've written it about my kitten, Winnie.

My real princess is Ashley, Ash, so lovely.
But don't make her mad or she might even throw things.
Kidding, I'm kidding! Well, I guess I'm really not.
But back to the point, where we first got caught.

His name was Gage, my good friend of youth.
Immature and reckless, he lost her like ****.
Yeah, that's right, he dated her first..
But with stupidity he lost her, almost like a curse.

Or was it a blessing, a blessing you see.
Not a blessing for him, but a blessing for me.
We met once again, this time a new friend,
His name was Alex, and that's where it ends.

But that's okay, that story is old,
The story of us is about to unfold.
We met before drinks, shots to be exact,
She took so many and convinced her drugging was fact.

Fast forward now, past the times of drunk.
To the time where I, well, I thought and I thunk.
Girl after girl, I'd dated them all.
From Leanne to Lauren, short and tall.

Just over two years of stagnation and pain,
I found that I actually had much left to gain.
Remembering Ashley and the brightness she held,
I randomly reached out and all of a sudden an end came to my hell.

We texted and talked, sexted and sulked,
We found love within each other, something neither of us had felt.
And there it was, almost two years exact to this date.
That I met and fell in love, with my one and only soul mate.

So there it is, the story of my princess,
nothing more, nothing less.
But now, you see, I have two princesses with me.
One's named Ashley and the other Winnie.

I'll love them forever, and long after that,
my beautiful Ashley and calico cat.
Jokes
Karijinbba Feb 2021
{In CA, USA -1982- present}
Elizabeth WG, Henry R W his nurse sociopath child sadomizers baby trasher is Susan WRat
Commercial/ residential burglaries, life insurance fraud (which includes ****** for hire for profit cases.
Billing and Medical Services fraud.

Inventing surgeries not authorized
cutting mother's privates up out of malice jealousy greed.
You aren't above the law
buying fraudulent birth certificates from human trafficking serial poisoners Is a malignant crime
to drug young beautiful intelligent gifted brides mothers, without them knowing for years is a crime!
You aren't above the law.
drugging lying cursing a victims mom trashing their hero mother
maligning damaging my childrens brains giving them psychotropics, hallucinogenics and methamphetamin
my grown daughter's nightmare
its against the law
This is the USA
my daughter's if you want to live follow this lead
  Take Taxi cob to Wilshire Blvd to The FBI offices ask for political assilum for you your sisters
your children Angel Mom backs you up.Elenita Rosita. Jeanette: Evil Susan W. Raitano bought you from Charalambos Mantalozis a poisoner serial killer urMom escaped from 1982 from Farron 58 Kalamata Messinia Greece
Arthur Susan Rat ano bought you for a fee
and it's human trafficking.
Susan Word Arthur Rat-ano
you are the **** of Earth
****** cows ****** bulls
you aren't above the law!
I am dismanteling your team of murderers and thieves.
LA and Washinghton
FBI have been informed
you snakes in my childrens paradise
human predators sterile sociopaths
you all wolves with pea size brains
you needed going to sadistic unprovoqued enemy to help you sadomize my family and continue trashing this hero Mom
this purple heart hero Mom
cowards

To all my enemies I am  
vomiting you here to public shame
to your team of ***** wolves
Jeff  A, John CH, shame on you!
Blind deaf mute cacaroach size brains
you need to go to Greece to pile more trash on a battered mother in law
a survivor wounded by the hand of that human predator deadly enemy.
My daughters
Rose Eleni & Jeanette M Wk I love you you adore you uaren't guilty of any wrong doing I believe in you.
You are my children you are being tortured trashed to the eleven winds because they convinced you
to trash me to the four winds.
you trashed Mom to the wolves 
out of fear be strong the more they trash you and Mom know they are your deadly enemies evidence of Mom's innocence
My reputation marred by poisonous snakes matters nothing, my character is impeccable can't be tinted
You allow them to befriend you,
But I do not blame your treason and cruelty to your only Angel mom on Earth
Those maggots narcissists you may think are mother like, are not they only have
selfish agendas very dangerous malignant,
a poison to your mind
and your childrens buy cheap phone write a letter to FBI call police from neighbor tell them not to tell make videos tell all criminal abuse take taxi put cell on airplane mode ditch car it's got tracking too call or  do not call friends they are in it too go market borrow phone call taxi get your kids go to FBI Wilshire Blvd LA tell how you have been suffering deprived
of liberty .
Mom will back you up.
Remember this
"A house divided by itself cannot stand it will utterly be destroyed"
i am your first home my children
and i am giver of life
your lover of life
boved Mom
I can't allow you 3 to trash me to my deadly unprovoqued enemy
so i deprive myself of your presence so the enemy you call friend and family can not plicate me in
macabre agendas
they are ****** for hire
and life insurances
You are always in my heart my mind
you are my baby girls and I will ways side with you don't admit to being mentally ill do not go to any Jeff's phychiatrist to force you to give your parental right

Sociopath Arthur Raitano your evil sterile Medusa Susan W.
Elizabeth W, Gzon stop calling my childrens extended family and cursing them then giving my name to them.
don't you have a name?

To my childrens deadly
two face enemies
Satan doesn't want you in hell
and God wont open gates of heaven
for you I curse the day your great grandparent
were born for all eternity
I bind to you all my pain
my childrens suffering too
soon you'll pay Karma and your many deadly enemies will be hunting you hundred fold as you do into others
I only seek an eye for an eye.
Elizabeth W G i loved Henry one split second because u
didn't understand love neither
Henry R Welonek
  you all tried murdering me by turning me to his satanic sadistic jealous ex girl friend
the evil nurse from hell.
your partner in hate crimes
i am a human being
not a dog ******* My children aren't dogs either to be drugged and forced to call criminals parents
to fill your empty cradle
God and his wise universe
did leave you sterile
for a reason
So let go of my kids
get a dogs to pet as vicious
as you all are.
~~~~~
By: karijinbba
purple heart Mom
A repost:1977- 2021.
To all your team of organized crime Go to hell
The door is open. 
Leave it open. 
This door is shut. Do not open it. Leave it shut. 

Not this one, but the next one. The next right turn. 
Make the next right turn. 

Instructions not packaged. How to care for this new incomplete stranger. 

Monarch butterfly. Teardrop firefly. Three tin passerbys. 

The center for new age trauma victims. 

Lifting skirts. 

No I used to lift skirts. 

Bring me down. 

Triumph. 

The softness of her antlers leaves me confused and shaking. 

Bone and then praise. 

Supper and ritualized masculinity. 

A spot on the wall, no more spit on my face. 

Soon my blood vessels will burst and my jowls will sag. 

The paragraph starting here. But I am here. And back again. 

To say whoever finds him here. 
Anything medical related. 
And it is so sad. 

Am I dodging the blows?
Or moving swiftly between?

She gives praise to the glasses. And the rash grows, drugging with nothing sacred. 

All of this son could have been avoided. 

Oh, a horn in the distance. It is too late. 

Come now ye polished hoods of chrome. Parade along the city's skirt. 

Erosion, under humanity's weight stands strong. 

A breakbeat. Appearance of stereo but we are just in mono.
Tragedy.
Allen Wilbert Oct 2013
Love Is Blind

First we talk, then we start discussing,
turns into arguing and some fussing.
Every compromise turns into a heated debate,
who you out *******, when you come home late.
Your drinking and drugging is out of control,
wishing I could leave you, but my heart you stole.
Not gonna lie, I wish you were dead,
but watching you slowly killing yourself, I’ll watch instead.
Not sure how much more I can take,
meeting you is my biggest mistake.
You beat me one night while drunk,
from my head, you took a chunk.
Me in the hospital, you in jail,
I’m now blind and must learn braille.
Waiting years for you to be set free,
knowing you will come looking for me.
My seeing eye dog, I keep very hungry,
I may be blind, but I’m no dummy.
My walking cane is also a taser,
under my sleeve, I hide a razor.
Through the grapevine, I heard you get out tomorrow,
prepare to drown in a big red sea of sorrow.
Then one night, I hear a knock,
it must be way past twelve o’clock.
I quiet my dog so it doesn't bark,
turned off the power, so she could see dark.
I listen closely and hear very well,
knowing it’s her from her distinct smell.
She slowly opens the unlocked door,
my electric cane knocks her to the floor.
With my razor, I give her a slice,
I taught my dog to be a ***** eating device.
There is no proof, she was even hear,
some people just deserve to disappear.

— The End —