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Schanzé Jul 2014
You'll be pestered with letters.
Partly because I like to look at your name in my messy handwriting but mostly because if I don't - I'd go crazy without saying half the things I'd try to say in person.

Sometimes I'll stare at you and wonder how on earth I ever managed to acquire such a beautiful creature.
And I'll wonder how long you'll take to realise you could do so much better.

I'll write you poetry,so many pieces.
Describing your eyes and your hands.
I'll write sonnets to the freckle on the right side of your neck.

I'll make you listen to songs that remind me of you & believe me there are many.
I'll write the lyrics on my hands hoping you'll be intrigued to search for answers.

I like code names, ridiculous ones.
So you'll get a few of those too.
I watch tons of movies, I'll do it while I lay my head on your chest.
I laugh at the most inappropriate times.

If public displays of affection embarass you - I'll embarass you everywhere we go.

You should know I'm over-emotional & extremely jealous. I get paranoid and I worry a lot too.

You'll be mine & I'll be yours.
You'll mean the world to me because I don't have anyone else.
Bardo Apr 2022
You find yourself in a strange street somewhere, a busy street of a big town or city
There's people going around about their business
They pass you by paying you no heed
You'd think you'd feel lost, an outsider here
But no! You don't,
You've been here before
And what's more you seem to know your way around
And there's this wonderful excitement inside of you
This delicious expectation of something
You know there's great delights to be had here.

You seem to know exactly where to go
You turn off the street into another and walk a short way
Then there's another street with some shops
And there's this one particular shop
Outside it's not much to look at
Even inside there doesn't seem to be much going on
There's other people there but you're not interested... you're not even curious
It's like you're on autopilot
You walk right up to the counter
And the lady comes over
And you whisper "I'd like to go in the back please"
It's just like a Speakeasy
She tells you to wait, to take a seat for a second, then she disappears
A few moments later a door opens over at the side
The lady is standing there, she beckons you to come over
You go and suddenly there's this long hallway/corridor
You go down it and there at the end
It's the Salon !

You can ask for whatever you want in the Salon, whatever you desire
And it's all... it's all totally free
Suddenly you find yourself in a room
There's a beautiful lady there
She's naked and she's smiling right at you
Then you realize that you too are naked
She comes up to you and caresses you, she's so soft and gentle
You can feel her touch, feel her body pressing against yours, and then she kisses you
Her tongue in your mouth
It's like licking an ice cream...an ice cream cone
She's so...so sweet
You can really feel her like she's something... something totally real.

(I remember when I was younger I used get these nightmares all the time
There was one and it was like this claw around your throat suffocating you
You'd have to really fight it, make an almighty effort to wake up, to escape it
It was something real, a force you had to fight, you could really feel it
The feeling in the Salon, it was similar but it was like the opposite of that
Instead of being something threatening it was something wonderfully pleasurable and thrilling).

She's so amazing, so soft and so gentle
You start to get aroused, it's like a lovely energy running through you
Like a wonderful slithering snake, so pleasurable
You feel like laughing at the joy of it all,
Normally now you'd come to a ****** and that'd be it over
But this time, no! this time I suddenly stop her, and I start to talk to her (I find I can talk to her)
"You know", I say, "you're so beautiful, so gentle and soft and kind
You're too good for the likes of me, I don't deserve you
Where I come from, I haven't met many really nice girls, not like you
It's always been like a battle, the Girls I've known,
They run you down, rip holes in you
Talking loud, trying to shock you and embarass you, control you
Have one eye on you, the other on their gang behind you
Their in no way genuine
You're nothing but a plaything to them
And y'know... it's all I've ever really known
I've never met any...any soulmate
And what's really sad is now I find myself gravitating towards those kinds of women...
I mean the cruel heartless ones
Why...why is that?

Me! I'm like that song "I don't know what Love is (I want you to show me)"
I don't know what real Love is, I haven't the faintest clue, the faintest idea
Hell! I don't even know what a girl, a woman is
I never had a sister and when you don't have a sister
It's the media, the world that tells you what a girl, a woman is
Their just pretty faces and nice *****, lovely legs and shapely bottoms
Then I look at her and I ask
"You don't have another more strict, more harsh severe kind of Lady
Some demanding imperious black leather clad (or rubber clad) *****
Maybe some superior cold aloof glacial goddess type,
Or what about a beautiful black booted stiletto heeled nice blonde **** girl, beautifully cold and merciless ?"
With this she gives me a knowing smile
"I know just what you're looking for" she says
Then she brings me to a room and tells me to wait there
She smiles when she's leaving me and there's so much in that smile she gives me
It tells me I'm in for an amazing time.
When she's gone I think to myself
"Well, this is a first, this never happened before
Now I'm gonna meet some awesome formidable lady, some terrible haughty domineering Queen
Y'know she might even talk to me, I might learn something
She might tell me why things are the way they are.

Anyway I'm waiting there pacing excitedly up and down the room
I can hardly contain myself
I can hear voices in the next room
Suddenly then, right out of the blue, suddenly this Bell goes off, yea! this bell starts ringing
What's that! I think to myself, Is there a fire! Are we being raided !!! What's going on ?
So I look out the door and there's this girl talking to another girl down the hall, their smiling and laughing together
They seem oblivious to any bell that's ringing
What the hell, I think, what's going on, that's really annoying
What's... what's that Bell ?
Eventually my eyelids, they start to flicker
Until finally they open up altogether
I find myself lying in my bed and my alarm clock on the bedside table... my alarm clock it's ringing
"Feckin', feckin' alarm clock!" I think to myself,
"Now that's what I call... that's what I call Bad timing".
A true story this. More funny dreams, wet dreams and the psychic ladies. Psychic ladies do it best LoL.
jerely Feb 2013
Awkward.
The moment when we get into silence
There's no mouth to utter
In the situation when we feel uncomfortable
There's nothing else to say
Besides nothing

Awkward.
The moment when we feel embarass for ourselves
As if the entire world will throw us with a great despair
There's nothing else to say
Besides nothing

Awkward.
The feeling of being awkward in one situation 
Nor two situations its either the past side or the present behind
There's nothing else to say
Besides nothing

Awkward.
I have nothong else to say
Besides nothing
But a great poet is here i am
Sometimes it feels nothing but to write those empty pieces left by unspoken words
There's a siren through this bloted soul

Awkward.
I have nothing else to say
Besides nothing.
Idk abt this thing but mind just came up.
Molly May 2015
You sicken me.
Put me in bad form in a heartbeat—
I don't
understand
how I didn't realise all these
feelings would come back.

It took so ******* long
just to get over you.
Why did I think you'd be nice to me?

The worst thing being
I can't tell a soul. Can't breathe a word
about the hold you have on me.
You just
belittle me. Make me feel tiny.
Not just because I'm 19
and you're 23, but you make me feel
young and silly.

You embarass me.
Oh my, ohhh MY
What is he doing to me
Electricity lighting up my body
Places throbbing like never before
Blushing profusely
Unable to speak except to say
Ahhhhh, mmmmms, oooooo, yessss!

Oh MY what is happening to me
His hands are like magic
Creating a world of pleasure
Unknown world to me
Having never felt anything like this
Oh no please don't let me embarass myself
Please let me resist his touch a little longer

OMFG
Suddenly my body convulses
Fire shoots through my veins
I feel the nectar of my tight pleasure well flowing forth
Breathing stopped as eyes watch the white sparks behind them
Bucking to his touch
The ****** so total  and consuming
Nothing ordinary about this one

Yet He does not stop
His hands continue to move
Touching places that should not feel ******
mmmmmm,, ohh pleaseeee

Please what? He asks

Face turns crimson as I turn trying to hide it
Muscles drawn tautly
Fighting each stroke of my wet *****

Pleaseeee....don't        don't stop  I said

Nooo I meant to say please stop didn't  I?
What must he think of me at this point
I notice him moving but was unaware of what he was up to
Suddenly his face was breathing hot upon the dew lauden petals
Writhing beneath his arms that hold my hips still
His arms trap my legs as they are parted wide

Shaved lips soaked
The smell oh the smell
Seems strong to me but all I hear

MMmmmm woman you smell so sweet  He said
Like peaches and vanilla He breathed softly

Body struggles to get away
Pleasure pearl is hard and throbbing
Suddenly his mouth surrounds the hard nub
I feel his lips tighten as He pulls as He nips and *****

Mary Mother of God I cried
Unable to keep still
Hips swaying lifting up towards his hot beautiful mouth
Needing to feel more
Begging that He not stop

He continues as I feel the precious liquid flowing between the cheeks of my ***
He slowly slides ******* deep into that tight tunnel and begins to stroke the soft flesh part towards the top
MMMMmmms, mmmm ohhhhh yessss yesss sYEEEESSSS

I hear him chuckle as he hears my response
His words comforting as he tells me to let loose and not hold back
He suckles down ******* my now tender ****
******* massaging that ******
The something I was totally unprepared for

His finger slid deep into my ***
Bucking wildly
Screaming out as the ****** ripped through my body
Juices burst free of my tight tunnel soaking his fingers
Fingers digging deep into the bedspread

OHHHHHH MYYYYYY
Panting as I can't breathe
The intensity so overwhelming tears fall from the corners of my eyes
He continues to pet and stroke me slowly
Bringing me down easily

I was gone for awhile
My brain was mush
Thighs quivered
Eyes closing

I did feel him remove his fingers
His tongue licking up the sweet taste of me
I felt him move up to lay beside me
Encircling me in his arms
His hands roaming over my hair

Every now and again my body would tremble
Jump then tremble again
Mind blown like never before
What just happened I wondered
I dare not ask
At this point I didn't care

Suddenly there was a clap of thunder
I woke up in a damp sweat
******! It was just a dream
I got up to go to the bathroom
Copius amounts of fluid drained down my thighs

Or was it a dream?
WRitten by Jennifer Humphrey  all rights reserved
Joshua Haines Aug 2017
I imagine you're disappointed in me. I can't say I blame you. It is not my fault that I didn't become the laborer you dreamt I'd be, split palms stung by sweat.  It is my fault, however, that I became nothing at all.
  
  Our family was defined by a cardboard box. Your job was to move them, hundreds an hour. My brothers and I were raised by a box that puked The King Of Queens and censored 90's dramas. My mother buried Polaroids of frozen dance moves and eternal smiles, under fake jewelry in a cheap cherry box.

  And when I carried the box that ate my grandfather, I showed no stuggle, tucked in my shirt, not wanting to embarass you.

  And when I forgot the Sea Bass belt, I promised not to **** myself with, in a box at the ward.

  And when I carried the box that sealed my grandmother.

  And when I burnt the box of letters she wrote from far and away; trying to erase who I was.

  I think I have let you down, father. I can only offer myself the way I'd offer a box: disappointing on the outside with a chance of beauty in the inside, if you're willing to open up.
Dallas Allen Sep 2013
i like you
i respect you actually

so i stay quiet
so i do not
embarass you
and make you feel bad

because that is all i do
is be a failure,
i wish i was good enough for you
but me doing something right, would be a folk lure
what you guys think
Kayla Hensley Sep 2013
So it seems now he has chosen
And I am not the winner
The lucky girl that he will ask,
"Want to go out for dinner?"
This should have been expected.
I should have seen it coming.
It's obvious that this dear boy
did not want me in the ending.
This is not a first.
It might not be the last.
When boys like him
see girls like me
they run out very fast.
What is it I'm lacking?
What don't I have to offer?
I've given up my heart to him
And now it's been strucked with
thunder
In the end, it is my fault
I had to know the truth
And though it hurts
with a burning fury
it's taught me in my youth.
At least I did not go on
thinking I still had a chance
And to embarass myself
Just so he would laugh
Although I know
He holds no intrest of me
That does not mean I can't
admire from afar
and enjoy what I see.
Because in all truth,
he is like no other
boy I've ever known.
And I want for him
happiness
to spring within him
and grow.
I will attempt at friendliness,
for I do not wish to lose him.
That, I think would be worse,
than to never see him.
And if his heart gets broken
by some wreckless, evil girl,
I'll be here to help him
and bring brightness
to his world.
jeffrey conyers Nov 2012
Except for family members.
Where most of us just be ourselves?
We actors of the world?
We, who pretends to like our enemies?
Does so to keep them close?

We, who demises liars?
Stay a step ahead to cover us.

We venture through our daily journey
not bent on hurting anyone.
We do have a defense system that on a given moment.
Will come to the defense of us.

Like a comedian seeking laughters.
When the joke doesn't deserve one.
We slightly laugh.
Or question's the ones that does.
We actors of the world.
Not seeking to win any type awards.

We see politicians tear one another down.
Then the losing candidate smile like their was no harm done.
After they have dug up dirt to embarass many innocent ones.

Yes, we of humanity.
Are the true actors of the world
Sk Abdul Aziz Dec 2015
I am what i choose to be.It might not always be what you want me to be.It's not that i don't love you or respect you...the thing is i also love and respect my dreams and my areas of interest.So if i choose to do something different from what you want me to do...it doesn't mean that i hate you...it simply means that i'm following my heart.I assure you that none of my actions are an attempt to hurt you or embarass you in any manner whatsoever.I am your son/daughter...and just like you've loved me..please also respect the choices i make in life...just let me do the things which make me happy.I will make you proud one day..i promise.
I don't believe in this thing called 'generation gap'...unless both the parties are hell bent on creating it.
Blue colors are attracted to me.  

My Destiny.

To Explore The Mother Sea.

But what can that mean specifically?

I heard they tried to embarass me in front of reality.

Thus I'm interdimensional. But I digress..

To proceed.

is to progress.

ah but there's a reason one can walk on water without getting wet.


No regrets I know the ledge

these words will remain under the sea bed.

The color blue.  

My love for you.  

Mý Mood .
written on sept 7th for Yemeja.
Dallas Allen Sep 2014
thinking about her, brings me stress
being with her, lets me decompress
it relaxes me, but leaving her is sad
and lack of being with her makes me mad

i know i am ******* up,
i know i am messed up
i know you deserve better
i know i am not your type

you and me, different classes
not just school ones, but the social ones
i know i act stupid and like *****,
not just like one ***, but multiple

*******
*******

mainly those two, but probably more
i mean today i tried to impress you
with a stupid trick, and fell down
the stairs and looked like a idiot

trying to impress you,
i shouldn't, if i told you
that i liked you i would
just be your source

of embarrassment
i think your cute
i like you
i respect you actually

so i stay quiet
so i do not
embarass you
and make you feel bad

because that is all i do
is be a failure,
i wish i was good enough for you
but me doing something right, would be a folk lure
Samridhi Sahoo Jun 2019
Flashbacks -
Yes, sometimes they are happy
And sometimes they are sad.
They make you proud
But also embarass you.
A thing done innocently in the past
Seems silly in the present.
Words spoken harshly
Sometimes hurt us more.
But what happens
When you love?

He was there for me.
I was there for him.
It was all perfect
Until one of us left.
It was him.

No, he did not
Fall out of love.
But he had no choice.
Maybe his time to leave
Had come in quite early.
On his farewell, I silently cried.
I saw him go away,
His body, his soul,
His smile and every memory.
I could cling onto them
But I chose to let go.
After all no one can defy
Fate.

But see, now I am all
Happy and full.
I see him looking
Fondly at me,
The way which
Always makes my
Heart run fast.
He's here leaning
Over the table
Where I am writing
This piece of mine.

As I complete writing
I look up to see
Innocent love in his eyes.
He leans in towards me
And whispers,
"Darling it's a flashback."
Salmabanu Hatim Feb 2019
Do not be embarrassed of who you are,
You are a creation of Allah,
And He is never wrong.
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2017
Owned,
That's what this mark alludes to,
This vampiric nibble on my neck,
That I am owned by you,
Marking me as your property,
A dog leash,
I am yours.
I don't resent this proof,
Instead I take pleasure from it,
Knowing that you dominate me,
Embarass me,
I am yours to control.
Such power over me,
Reduce me to ashes,
Heated thighs,
Pulsing inbetween,
Dominate my thoughts,
Look a what a mess you've made of me.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
i was aiming to sort out some computer
details outside the realm
of the corporate world of hierarchy...
something like that...
talking to a 56 year old kazakh in
romford: about the turks and the mongols...
about giving up smoking (not really):
and how i am addicted to carbon
monoxide while he is bagging big chews
from the nicotine gum: fiddly fingers
and something akin to peeling carrots
and power-tame-toes!
fiddles for foreskins...
in this one instance i am... beside buying
into... "the narrative"...
a crown descends...
   a crow is the equivalent of crown:
phonetically: in greek... amore...
                  the rest of the day completed
itself... with me walking from
Chadwell Heath to Romford...
marking my feet on a shortcut through
the green belt...
the traffic noises died...
i just stood in a middle of a field
the vikings might have envied...
no no no...
   the blistering azure piercing breath
and making me embody a loitering of a soul...
three birds of prey...
how is it... that birds of prey rarely
flap their wings... they... just... hover...
impossibly perfect...
they hone in on something...
circle around and around
like a vultures' manifesto...
     i was waiting to see the dive
but i didn't see it: not out of impatience...
i was in a secluded partition of england
yet i was still attempting to buy a bicycle
in Chadwell Heath -
i looked at myself not looking at
anything prior...
this solitary whitey:
i don't mind the remark...
thank god the slaves of colour want
to either see no colour or... too...
the hues of copper, cinnamon...
      teases of cacao...
                           a cuban ****...
                so much was poured into
a runic revision -
    best: an invigoration...
                    toothpicks for words:
an arithmetic of my teeth...
        i am beside myself welcoming
the intrusion of "minority":
perhaps in little ol' removed Swansea -
i am the lord mayor the city might
need me...
   in somewhere like Chadwell Heath...
buying a lion white chocolate bar
is perhaps sub-cultural -
the same old pauper of what-a-load of
violins bundled up on a bench
by the church... a last imploring gesture...
drinking that gorgon's blood
of a dutch equivalent of carlsberg's
spezial broo (or -ew)...
          on these isles: these bright and beautiful
isles:
you can't "sell me": the irish are still
speaking... english?!
the irish are not speaking gaelic -
my god... this terrible hammer from
Lincolnshire -
     when and as to how...
the Welsh took it upon themselves
to become this sacred heaven of bilingualism -
so much for learning Dutch -
or... Bel-ge-an -
  Flemz? Flimsy Choc-a-Block...
       choke on a tired rubber of a tire...
stage a newbie ***** flick from
the dungeons of **** Bruges...
or some ***** / wide my pony: rha rha rho...
that the Welsh still cling to a tongue:
spirit pairing:
of the Polacks under the geography
of the third partition...
of the czechs under the habsburgs -
          history as a fetish...
no... more... "natural selection" beside
the already prescribed antics of ape ****
and meteor... and time impossible...
to have... selective historicism...
naturally?
             that "we" are at a stage where
something is deemed necessary - otherwise not...
but then again it's not...
since: who the hell will remember "us"?
i drink... but i also write...
i guess the writing is more of an exercise
in amnesia than the drinking -
the drinking helps: in that i am more blunt,
boringly honesty:
un-spec-tac-ular for the best...
  i just can't imagine myself writting anything
worse than a journalistic tabloid
palette will allow...
    sure: no rhyme no river for a narrtive:
concretely focused on an (a) through to a (z)...
pay... i guess the concept of
pay is showing through...
          well then... my whittle hobby:
my whittle: it can become impossible -
that the secular niqab
   will not protect you from the stench
of old goats' **** in a public toilet -
the solipsism of farting in a cogested
public "picturesque"...
to have to believe in both narratives:
the mainstream of lies and these -
offshoots of the best / better informed...
my little paranoid agenda is no
agenda... but enough of my beard
shackles a: thorough "through"...
red is longer a bull pointer antagonist...
up could be a down...
but it's not that: well... it is...
that people made a constituted forward:
towing - best kept replicas...
how could it be possible to procrastinate
a diminishing of transcendence:
that freedom is already a pork-pie glutton
and constipation...
"think-tanks"...
      tanks... ego rifles?
      shoot the dummy... play the cerebral
palsy mannequin tossing...
the utopia of hyperhondriacs...
a diaspora of polacks and the greeks...
that the machinery has been
well established... that the machine has
been well oiled...
and is "econimally" sound...
     gentle rub rub gentlest rubbing rub-up...
and down...
and my flesh this least copernican
crux... which has not orientated
itself around either sun, star...
earth or moon...
          
            expanding cycle lanes will
not bring about a new dutch republic...
nor will i sell a pancake for
the purpose of levelling the himalayas...
this brittle conundrum of bogus...
two narratives:
alter-alter -
what-if and... what-if...
                but red's not red:
there's no shawl for a hemmingway
for sooner last:
for a Catalonia...
to romance the world afresh...
but now there's a McDonalds in
Stockholm: future knowledge...
a globalist ghetto -

how the joke that  was once
Sweden is no longer...
this same... cyclops of culture mantra...
of lore: Sveeden: "so tolerant"...
and now the world and no...
this is not a world...
based on the focus of scrutiny
of a world: no... there's
no heidegger's dasein:
there's...

the magic trick for the masses...
which is much more spectacular...
and how willing there's a dulling of perception..
i am of the custard pie...
i am the custard pie...
            
              hiersein: "there" or "here" of...
ahem...                wohin?
that word comes with a question puncture...
you don't actually use the word:
where... without a question mark... no?
you can compound a complexity
akin to heidegger's with: here-being
alias "concern"...
well then... the solipsism of: "over-there"...
a pointer... it's a lack of reconciling the masses
with any ontological... "scrutiny"...

plus up: ++++ pardons for:
blistering of and this leftover scab of narrative...
before the double knee of
b.l.m. and beijing -
now... best left with fighting the nazis...
i'll say it outright...
best left with fighting the nazis...
best fighting a well attired SS-man
in some hugo boss suit...
of pristine khaki... grey or black...
but no... not now...
dulling of suits...
              
   now i'm on par with the argument:
i want nazis! i want to fight nazis!
oh... wait... they're not blonde...
or german or... believe me:
they could have hidden in the Crimean
peninsula...
             but no... but not now...
i want to fight: the *******: good-luck
joke of history...
but this evil is so bland...
it's so terrestrial...
   the same mundane evil coupled
with my own terrestrial existence probing
of conversation / no argument...

the Welsh still speak: "Welden"...
   Velsh... in a climate where... the union
jack is looking up the h'american *******...
but the scots but the irish don't retain
their ******* gaelic...
good for you:
like a nuanced slang of the english cricketer...
tourist... hello... world...
tourist... hello world...
               my now new reality:
legal immigration this little ******...
this no burden of a Ruś -
a warraring burden from a scent in the air...
that there's no concrete:
sulphur stinking zeppelin ruining the skies
at: come night... come lazily this lost day...
this lost day...

once more: when st. patrick met up
with a mule that became
a farce and a ghost-face
of sitting loiter:
anti-saint: humpty-coŁal-sky-
             dumps a truce...
valiant against the propaganda cogs
and blockages...
the retorts of the salvaged plumber...
my new authority: my lost authority...
F'f'f'f'fever pitch for a hannibal...

Carthage must counter: euthanasia...
me best sold "neuter"...
that there is an unconvincing this:
bias this base...
******* on a whiskey soaked
cigarette...
that a guinness can only be drank
from a glass of a measure of a pint...
don't blister me with
this and these details of a gargantuan
t'is... i want a poetry on the basis
of future: dead...

            ****-soaked revelation
of a brick willing: to sell a "hybrid"
sorta-glue: a congestion...
           this my sacred ****...
my tongue this lesser oyster -
      a skull that cannot fathom
   the jaw line...
      witness my own very little...
my leisured attention span...
no new no wriggling of index
as the best pickled earth-worn...

              habitually: a shirt worn
to expand upon an objectivity for
the tow of a shirt with...
creases...
this lesser ambiguity of
a prompt that preserves itself
with a: lost project of ambiguity -

that we somehow accepted
a new, a nuance... a blister and a heaving...
catterpillar dues...
count! count the arithmetic per-take!
back in the ***** of mother russia...
little people do little things...
big people do: crab load of ****:
this sort of philanthrophy...
because: aghast...
the mistantrophe is the next
best fang...
like chewing gum and mawler
of a fake tooth:
my best kept bones...

              heritage of radio and a ******...
but, once upon a time...
my little overt detailing...
romance mr. marshall this little
casablanca and my own tunis -
chasing shadows with
a little insy-winsy spiders to tow...
my own cob...
my own prague pangs of summer
that they are still:
the cobblestones to resound
with horse hoofs...

the last... lost... project...
to have to rejuvinate the revision
of the roman empire...
that there was no james joyce's ullyses
from 200 AD...
there was an old greek in
the new greek in the byzantine choral
chant...
     goody-goody-fwyfays
2020 my lost year...
the year when i begged for a slack:
a diminished point of a pair of *******...
how sober somehow worked...
that drunk was no new sensible...
doubt and its plethora of all the least
possible jargon of emotions:
a McDowell a McCurieal...
   a Dot MacKenzzies...
a lord assumption of surnames that:
there was no ever...
Hogwarts of the choicest of godfather
names... when this blessed babe
of the agony srap..
this tendering of bones...
          my little mongolia...
a variation of Kiev that could expand
into Ukraine...
                       but: ah... now...
a little chisel of england or...
aa bandage off...
this whittle hinter of big bypass flyover
most pristine:
utopia h'americana...
                          Boston bleeds:
Chigaco sort of... fakes...
on the cackle of a letter...
gate? i say... Gate?
      shique: cack: ago: co: go...
no "lord assumption"...
my lord this same ***** diary
this rusty panser..
                                 and i have
to somehow embarass myself
with a "belief" in a... god?!

                  of the non-exisstence of
a god among "sensible" people...
this little deity of transcending...
my quest for a satanic project
gorgon...
         stashed up conjure:
of.. the death-litany...
my own explanation...
            my own little wording that
has to arrive at a...
******* and a variation of hues
that borrows from green...
blue... and the mediating...
              hard-world-of-grey...
this my loosening of tendons...
the easing of muscle to tow
some fat...
my new: hammering...
chicken shackles...
rummanating the lost
ordeal of the perpliexing *** ordeal
of catholicism -
time to *******! time to!

my best pointers:
corpus christi:
we did start off with cannibalism...
we did start off with cannibalism...
metaphorical?
was it ever really a posit of
images that were only read by braille
sooths?
christianity is a cannibalism...
it's so hertbreaking that:
there's no god or an infinite man
of the little things to make
a composition of polyphony...

i can't read into a jesus when there's
the cannibalism:
a "metaphor" for a metaphysics...
a death of poetry: hell...
**** me for the necessary death
of rhyme...
            now "jew" like any basic
posit of a yew...
    prior to the real established
scrutiny of a nation-state...
which has to be fathomed
with Israel...
the hebrews have finally found
their: woke and roll...

           the jews were excused from
towing along to the crucifix...
and when all was done...
and this new camel jockey prize...
king crimson...
isn't cited: unless in the spanish circles
along with portishead...

i have desired this blatant death
that it might contend with Barcelona...
or a sequence if a brothel
from Bulgaria imitating throttle Thailand...
my little ex-girlfriend...
come 5am... and it is still
oxford st. and a flagship wake-me-up...
this old leveraging London matters...
i am but the sharpnel of words
that cannot possible reproduce:
brick-top sensibilities...

my litter interludes basket of futurist "what if"
existences in the Bedlam of epitaphs...
i might have been crowned the prince
of Anjou...
   i might have cradled the thirds
of the third crusade...
i might just as well be the beggar from
the annals of history making journalistic
progressions... to sow: death... to tow...
belittling creases of lost
adventures... creasing the skin prone:
proof... a detail of a scalp that's not...
  em... retail... wigs...
                          you wanna make me a glutton:
fist based... there was no turmeric involved...
the "convenience"...
yes... a bone-ah-tomahawk...
  my best attired cannibal...
it's such a taming project...
i want to be chemically sedated by disproofs...
but then... i am...
squandering what little i have
of romancing russia...
or thereby greece...

  this is the part where i try to borrow from
a differentiation of...
second from last:
stream of borrowed cocktails...
or...
my best screaming streamer -
i nice unto you...
you...
no... i very much like this cul de sac
of: i nice unto you...
why? the work invites no
technicality that can be
detailed into a trans-generational...
my last Epicurus joke...

crease a child an ultimatum of
competition...
conjunctions of grief...
not biggest thank you...
i thank you as to why
i... not because i wanted
to drink...
sober people are splits and
just plain boring...
towing toes to tango:
no game of twos...
sober people have no...

   my best tomato ketchup fake
blood load of argumentation...
bias / basis...
generic *******...
cause no happy bride:
was ever to be prized...
or prided..
my little gimmick wonderland
of a shtick...
no thank god i never married...
thank god i toiled around
with...
bread-knit...
and... cuneiform woke...
best kept islam: a foretold
variation of agriculture...
the plantation ridicule plumber of
eastern european choice:
****-dumbdumb...
dies with... incorporated
neu-Birmingham...
******* polacks...
too proud to think they could replace
us *****: first prized Pakis...

ahem... yes... what?!
this be Westminster...
tax haven collector's bias?
do i have a face that might coincide with:
i had...
but right now?
no... i couldn't give a tonne's load
of ******* to mind
it being a copernican: first invoked
sort of... affair...
savvy?!
Man doesn’t want to embarass anyone
or make anyone feel guilty
about the status quo
of being a man
so he cries alone by the river
as often as it rains
he listens to his breath
through the flute
his daughters
who are his heart
secretly overrule his manhood
when man is done
brutally expelling
threats to families
securing land for whiteness
slaughtering natives
pillaging foreign hearts
he puts the violence safely aside
the violence that shapes
moments of peace
the warrior walks naked through his home
vulnerable
weaponless
expelling threats
returning to tranquility and love
innocence is lost
then regained
making them stronger
and stronger
man
the real man
is a secret
Luna Casablanca Aug 2014
They will never
Say to you what they say to me,
Treat you the way they treat me,
Look at you
The way they look at me,
Feel like that
The way they feel around me.

Nervous, and scared is how they feel.
Treat me differently,
To you, their real.
Always giving your skills a try.
I'm happy for you
But that could be a lie.

You will never
***** it up like I do.
Embarass yourself,
See why they trust you.
Lose your temper,
It's never out of the blue.

I was given the gene
To give my anger a call.
Got so bad
I now lose it all.
Make you cry
At my vulgarity.
Never wanted to teach you that
Profanity.

They are never
Hesitant with you like with me.
Talking to you like a minor
Like with me.
Watching you impress
As I get frustrated
And cause everyone stress.

We two siblings
Nothing alike, not the same.
I play the role,
You play the game.
Sorry for my
Going insane.

Comparing us to the bible story,
You're Abel and I'm Kane.
My anger is no fuzzy sweater.
This is why you are better.
Forever they will see your presence
And feel relaxed.
They will see my presence,
And you will see my tracks.

Will be the point where I am
Out of your life and I am
Gone.
It will be forever
Won't be long.
Let's just try to get along.
Prove
That in your life
I belong.
For my one and only brother.
We may have our differences
But we are always going to have each other.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
somewhere between:
the mash and the fury... sycamore feeling...
shades of marble...
   & neverglade...
                
can you really... live... enough?
again: can you live... "too much" or
live "too little"?

i imagine myself living a life
of the highest expectations
in the full view of the public...
then i drift and recede among
the shadow-folk...

if on that blatantly glaring
carousel of ups-and-downs of fate...
bound to nothing more than
the gambling of gods...

perhaps i haven't lived some magical
quota of "enough":
to leave a statement akin to:
life is beautiful... even due to all
the suffering...

      perhaps i have attempted to live
the minimum of what might
be expected: if not asked of me to live...
perhaps i didn't want to...
congest my faculty of memory with
too many... repetitive: anti-introspections...
perhaps too much of the same
"thing" wouldn't allow me
for a cinema of... circa 10 very distinct
memories...

how "they" eroded our faculty of memory
when we were still children...
spelling... arithmetic...
random historical dates....
we weren't allowed to remember
something beside was kept in touch
with the narrative of the past 100 years
or so...

have i lived enough: or perhaps not enough?
perhaps i have forged
a memory bank of about 10 memories
that i keep like diamonds...
this sigma-sum of me:
how i might gladly give up these limbs...
to be a thought inside fire...
or water... to be restored to my original
dismemberment...
of how this body came together...

live "too much" and i suspect you won't
be able to remember... a third of it...
this "too much"...
live "too little" and i suspect:
your memories will be of no use...
reduced to the ash of...
2 + 2 = 4 / a b c: barnacle rigidity...
philosophy...

memory is such a fickle creature:
perhaps it would be less fickle if it wasn't
eroded at first by pedagogy...
would it be oh so embarass...
   embarasing... embarassing...
embarrassing... i was going to get
the correct spelling one way or another...
to forget spelling altogether and
make a barbaric return to pure
phonetics... perhaps even as far as
Japanese syllabry... syllabery...
   syllables... katakana: syllabry...
syllabary... syllabery... syllabary...
              
freel will: it's not a question of whether i have it
or don't: whether i'm labouring under
Greek fatalism of German Protestant docrtine
of predestination...
memory is a fickle creature:
i can't remember what i've like to remember:
to hell with all this memory recycling
and forgetfulness...
it's not even that i forget certain
events in my life by choice:
but who or what has staged authority
over me: to remember the "things" i do...
beside the vanity project:
in no way is this a source of becoming
something better: or for that matter: worse!
just... immobilised in this cosmic stasis!

obviously i can't remember everything:
but why do i remember certain things
more: that i remember the spelling of words...
well: that has been drilled into me
with all the scrutiny of ember, amber and cold
coal... of the times when my eyes disappeared
into being fully pupil:
the iris and sclera having lost track of:
there should be an iris and a sclera:
now there's only a blackness...

it must feel terrible to have lived a supposedly:
enough... so much...
to later have no memory of said life...
a fate most cruel: esp. prior to death...
notably governed by the noun dementia...
elevated within the confines of Alzheimer's...
it must be cruel so cruel: to have lived
such a full life... yet not once...
probably never... strained the mind
to remember something trivial...
i have about 10 trivialities...
i return to them because: one must...
sitting on the curb...
at night... drinking... a she fox sits opposite
me on a green lawn...
we have a staring contest...
a woman is walking by from a social
event...
she walks past the she-fox... the she fox
is staring right back at me...
she ignores the woman who is: a *******
meter away from her...

i'm the supposed *** having a staring contest
with a fox at night...
the fox doesn't budge when she's staring at me:
not one bit she allows the woman to walk past
all done... in the confines of a silence
that could only emanate from the deathly hallows...
of the gallows...

running with deer: i was the only stag
metaphor ready to easy the traffic
while this tender creature looked for
inspiration to gallop back into the woods...
it still looks funny in my mind...
holding a can of beer
slightly overweight... steering this little
harem of deer back into the woods...
so the road could be unblocked...

coming out a drinking session from
a park... climbing over a fence...
picking up a disgruntled teenage girl...
rolling her a cigarette...
giving up my phone so she could text like crazy...
she just attended a house party...
had an argument with her friend...
leech...  we talked... she ran back and forth...
we sat down and talked...
a black cat came up to me:
i picked it up and caressed it...
the girl went twice mad...
oh we did find her friend alright...
lying face down on the pavement...
i ran up gave her my hoodie: which dwarfed her
even more...
the mad girl texted her dad about our location...
walking to location i flicked the girl lying face-down
baseball cap: it'll be alright...
said suspect was allowed a selfie...
the girls were taxied home safely...
hmm... Sarah... Everard?

hello warlock me... even by any standard of truth:
you know how impossible it is to...
be emanating what might attract
a black cat approach you in the street at night
sitting akimbo with a clearly distraught
teenager girl: she just leeched onto
a stranger who was climbing over a fence
of a darkened park...
cats are most suspect... a good tendency
to have... tendency: there's a better word for that:
scrutiny... better than scrutiny...
stereotypically sieving through bull-*******...

of the 10... these are the 3...
i'm not going to disclose the other 7...
well... 4th... the widow Swan or widower swan...
Zeus came down and decided to eat
crisps from my lips
when i was still with Ilona as we spent
the sunset at Loch Lomond...

i'll not go into the 5th... it would require me being
a child again...
it's so far dated... that it involves
me... the Danzig Zoo... and a bear similar to
me in height: and him eating a button of my
cardigan...
a traumatic experience:
he ate my button! he ate my button!

again: fickle creature: this memory...
but i guess people too busied with life...
don't spare it much attention...
they hardly invest in memory...
to the point that they forget they're somehow
alive and have to subsequently... shockingly...
"remember" that they have to die...
but... that doesn't happen and so:
dementia seeps in...
there's no science behind this theory
only the words behind them...

memory is sacrosanct: however fickle the ***** believes
herself to be: however much eroded
by the structures of pedagogy...
i somehow filtered through and "remember"
the glory of the Mamluks vs. the Mongol Horde...
but i have my own memories:
i don't suppose that one's life is supposed
to flash before one's eyes when one is
instanced to death's fore...
if you didn't keep "certain" memories
sacred like you might keep: arithmnetic,
spelling... or the geometry of the triangle...
what is one to expect if:
there's a congregation of cognitive failures
culminating in dementia?

i'd want to remember something else beside
what i grieve as being the kept "consolations"...
i truly do...
but what i keep seems to give me
the required momentum...
of the many prostitutes i...
                           well...
          good to know that i'll go down
in history as: the hearty-second-best of...
Jack the Ripper...
but history is not a theatre of good-will people...
is it?
perhaps the man-child complex
of the ancient Greek philosophers...
"complex": ha ha!
in the current climate of
the woman-child...
             i'm not going to bother: grieve...
do anything more than the prescribed:
as follows...

it was so much fun having to romanticize
women in my teenager years...
my 20s are amiss...
i came back to the "narrative" in my mid-30s
and... well... if i'm not ******* the queen
of England while singing songs
akin to; WERE DIU WERLT ALLE MIN!

as much as any: kinder or kind-at-a-loss...
come tomorrow's 9am...
i suppose i should be grieving less...
kinder...
  and all the jokes and balloons...
and... candy-floss... such are the demands...
such the times... such the impossibilities:
and the justifications for having them
to begin with!
Sometimes Starr Dec 2023
Who are you impressing?
It makes sense that you should be average
If your theories really hold up.

Self-defeating...
We have to work backwards
But where does it get us?
We just embarass ourselves

And how did you manage to be embarrassed all by yourself?

Then I hobble to the placid lake of my soul
And cast forth prodding eyes

Are you really silent and void of judgment?

Are these murmurings really just illness?

When we come forth from nothing, illusion is no comfort in the face of howling demons

No solace as we're torn from our bodies and any sense of sanctuary

I want myself to know I'm not wrong,
That it comes on automatic,
That we can't escape the fire but are not a mistake
Just because there's no option but suffering and death.

I want myself to know and forget
Be proud and be humbled
When security fails
I won't be alright but I'll be... I'll be...

— The End —